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SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS
VOLUME X

COST A BERLING'S SAGA

BY
SELMA LAGERLOF

PART I

THIS VOLUME IS ENDOWED BY
MR. CHARLES S. PETERSON
OF CHICAGO

GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

__

BY

SELMA LAGERLOF

A

TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH
BY LILLIE TUDEER

PART I

NEW YORK
THE AMERICAN-SCANDINAVIAN FOUNDATION

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Copyright, I pi 8, by The ^American-Scandinavian Foundation

Updike • The <Merrymount Tress • 'Boston • U.

\A\

Editorial Treface

NO series of SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS would be
complete without a romance representing the
genius of Selma Lagerlof. Two chief reasons have
influenced the Committee on Publications of the
American Scandinavian Foundation in choosing
Gosta Berling's Saga for whatever distinction may
accrue from its inclusion in the CLASSICS. In the
first place, it is the author's earliest work. If she
had written no other, her place in Swedish letters
would have been assured for all time. In Gosta are
consummated the story-telling aspirations of her
youth and a literary ambition which for thirty-three
years found no outlet. In the second place, what-
ever may be the judgment of posterity, Gosta Ber-
!ing's$agaym the popular estimate of Swedes to-day,
is Selma LagerloPs masterpiece. On this point, to
be sure, the critics are divided. It is justly held that
'The Emperor of Portugallia is a more skilfully con-
structed book, and Jerusalem more profoundly in-
spired, while other novels are found to excel in
particular features. Gosta is in truth loosely put
together, and sometimes as prolix as Arthurian
romance, the very prototype of this long narrative
of twelve vagrant Swedish cavaliers. But here per-

'

' 7

vi EDITORIAL PREFACE

sonality combines with art to create a rhapsodic
prose possessing the fervor of verse and a style new
in world literature. Some paragraphs one hesitates
whether to print as prose or vers libre. One could
rewrite in metrical form, for example, the descrip-
tion of the beautiful Marienne Sinclaire,in" The Ball
at Ekeby:"

Her presence gave inspiration to the speeches

And life to the wine.

She gave speed to the violin bows^

And the dancing went gayer than ever

Over the boards that she touched

With her slender feet.

She shone in the tableaux

And in the acting.

It is a good test of the national character of a story
when public demand, as in the case of Mark
Twain's Bull Frog^ requires the author to write
a second narrative to tell how the first came into
existence. In A Story of a Story , one may read of the
long, quiet years that went into the making of Gosta;
how the frail Varmland girl, destined to renown,
in her pastoral home at Marbacka listened to spin-
sters and travelling fiddlers reciting the mad old
days after the Napoleonic wars, when gay soldiers
of fortune, by their pranks and romantic behavior,
made the bright-eyed maidens and pleasure-loving

EDITORIAL PREFACE vii

gentlemen of Varmland forget their poverty; how
for years she experimented silently with these tales,
put them into verse, tried dramatic form, and fail-
ing to find an audience for romantic prose, essayed
in vain the popular realistic then style. At last a
prize contest brought the romance to the light of
day in its present form. The unfrocked clergyman,
Gosta Berling, became chief and hero among the
twelve uncertain gentlemen to whom the efficient
Major's wife gave shelter under her generous roof
at Ekeby.

Gosta Berling' s Saga^ in the Swedish original, was
my introduction to the life and temperament of
modern Sweden. Like many another, after reading
it, I was overtaken by a consuming desire to see
the children of the people whom this romance pre-
sented, a longing which impelled me, when occasion
offered, to visit Varmland and that Lake Fryken
whose name the author has changed and whose
shores she has made immortal. While on my pil-
grimage I sat for a time in the seat of the scornful,
among a group of realists and disciples of Strind-
berg in Copenhagen. By them I was told that no
such people existed in reality as those day-dreamers
of the novel. But the Varmlanders of to-day are true
to their forebears, as I found on a walking trip which
I have described elsewhere. I well recall, as I drew

viii EDITORIAL PREFACE

near the Lake, a group of women carding flax by
the roadside, laughing and chatting, a generous fam-
ily that included a grandmother and many grand-
daughters. As I stopped for a moment to look at
their task, one of them, a sprightly maid, seizing
a handful of chaff, ran up and administered it to
my neck. I had scarcely time to dodge this assail-
ant when I was attacked by a sister with a similar
weapon. The older women went on with their work,
laughing merrily at the discomfiture of the stranger.
Such was my introduction to the gay fellowship of
Varmland,as blithe to-day, though not so romantic,
as in the period, now nearly a century ago, described
in the saga.

As to geography, the tourist can readily sat-
isfy himself by visiting and identifying most of the
homesteads and villages of the story. Selma Lager-
lof has rechristened them, to be sure, but fact and
fiction can be differentiated by the aid of local guide-
books or with the help of the map prefaced to the
present edition.

The excellent translation of Lillie Tudeer, first
published in 1894, hitherto inaccessible in Amer-
ica and out of print in England, is here reprinted
by permission of the English publishers, Chap-
man & Hall. The text, however, has been care-
fully edited and a few passages corrected by Hanna

EDITORIAL PREFACE ix

Astrup Larsen, the translator of Jacobsen's Marie
Grubbe, published by the Foundation. Eight chap-
ters that were silently omitted in the British edi-
tion have been restored in a new translation by
Velma Swanston Howard, translator of other works
of Selma Lagerlof published by Doubleday, Page
and Company. These sections are indicated in the
table of contents. At the end of the second volume
will be found a Lagerlof bibliography compiled by
Vice-Consul G. N. Swan. It is necessarily incom-
plete because of imperfect war-time communica-
tion, but will serve to indicate the chronology of
the literature of romance of which Gosta Berlings
Saga is but a beginning.

HENRY GODDARD LEACH

Contents

Part I

PAGE

The Tastor 3

The 'Beggar i

The Landscape 33

Christmas Sve 39

The (Christmas dinner 57

Qosta Her ling — Toet 73

The fachucha* 91

®£»// at Ske by . 96

Old (Carriages 1 24

Qreat Hear of Qurlita QHff 144

The Auction at "Bjorne 164

The Toung Qountess 200

Qhost Stories 234

<S^^ T>ohnas Story 252

Mamsell {Marie* 279

* Translated by Vclma Swanston Howard.

GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

BY
SELMA LAGERLOF

P»NM

LilliecronaaF-Lbfdalla

THE

LOFVEN DISTRIC

VARMLAND

• — highways

77}e 'Pastor

1

A HE pastor was mounting the pulpit steps.
The bowed heads of the congregation
rose — he was there, then, after all, and there
would be service that Sunday, though for many Sun-
days there had been none.

How tall and slight and how strikingly beauti-
ful he was ! In helmet and coat of mail he might have
stood as model for a statue of an ancient Athenian.
He had the unfathomable eyes of a poet, but the
lower part of his face was that of a conqueror, his
whole being was instinct with genius and refinement
and warm poetic feeling, and the congregation were
awed to see him thus.

They had grown accustomed to see him stagger-
ing out of the tavern, with his boon companions,
Colonel Beerencreutz and Kristian Bergh, "the
strong captain."

He had been drinking so heavily that for several
weeks he had been unable to perform the duties of
his office, and the parish had been forced to lodge
a complaint against him, first to the rector, and then
to the Bishop and Council.. The Bishop had come
to investigate the matter and was sitting in the choir,
wearing his gold cross of office upon his breast, and
was surrounded by the clergy from Karlstad and
from the immediate parishes.

4 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

There was no doubt that the preacher's conduct
had exceeded all bounds. People were lenient in
those days — between 1820 and 1830 — in the mat-
ter of drink; but this man had utterly neglected his
sacred duties for its sake, and he was now to be
deprived of his office.

He stood in the pulpit as the last verse of the
hymn was being sung.

A certainty grew upon him, as he stood there,
that every one in the church was an enemy. The
gentry in the gallery, the peasants filling the nave,
the confirmation candidates in the choir, all were his
enemies, and so were the organ-blower and the or-
ganist. The vestry-men's pew was full of enemies.
They all hated and despised him, from the babies
in arms to the stifF arid rigid sexton who had fought
at Leipzig. He longed to throw himself on his knees
before them and beg for mercy. But a moment later,
a silent storm of rage took possession of him. He
remembered only too well what he had been but a
short year ago, when he had stood in that pulpit for
the first time. He gave no cause for reproach then.
Now he stood there again and saw before him the
man with the gold cross, who had come to condemn
him.

While he read the introductory prayer, the blood
surged to his face in waves of anger.

He could not deny the charge — he had been
drinking. But who could blame him ? Had they seen

THE PASTOR 5

the parsonage where he lived? The pine forest stood
dark and gloomy round his very windows; the moist-
ure soaked through the black rafters and ran down
the fungus-covered walls. Surely a man required the
help of strong spirits to keep up his courage, when
rain and driving snow rushed through the broken
window-panes, when the ill-tilled soil hardly gave
him enough to keep hunger from the door!

He thought he had been the very pastor for
them; for they all drank. Why should he alone
control himself? If a man buried his wife, he was
dead drunk at the funeral ; the man who christened
his child gave a drinking bout after the christen-
ing; the people returning from church drank all the
way home — a drunken pastor was the very man
for them.

It was on his parochial rounds, when driving in
his thin coat for miles over the frozen lakes, where
the cold winds held high revel, or battling in his
boat in storm and driving rain; when in whirling
snowstorms he must leave his sledge, and lead his
horse through mighty snowdrifts; when tramping
through forest marshes — it was then he had learned
to love strong drink.

The days dragged along in heavy gloom. Peasant
and lord went their way with thoughts tied to earth
till the evening brought freedom, when, loosened
by wine, their spirits rose and cast aside their bonds.
Inspiration came to them, their hearts glowed, and

6 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

life grew beautiful — full of music and the scent of
roses. To the young preacher, the tap-room of the
tavern became transformed to a southern pleasure-
garden; olives and grapes hung above him, marble
columns gleamed through thick foliage, poets and
philosophers strolled and conversed under the palm
trees.

No ! — the preacher in that pulpit knew that life
without drink was unbearable in that isolated part
of the world. All his hearers knew it too, yet they
had come to condemn him.

They meant to tear away his priestly gown, be-
cause he had come a drunkard to the house of their
God. Oh, the hypocrites, had they, did they really
think they had, any other God than their drink?

He had finished the opening prayer, and now
knelt to say "Our Father."

There was breathless silence in the church. Sud-
denly he clutched with both hands the band that
held his gown in place; for it seemed to him that
all the congregation, with the Bishop at their head,
were creeping silently up the pulpit steps, intent on
tearing it from his shoulders. He was on his knees
and did not turn his head, but it seemed to him that
he felt them pulling, and he saw them so distinctly
— the Bishop and the dean, all the rectors and
the vestry-men, pressing forward, and he pictured
how they would all fall, one over the other, when the
clasp gave way — even those who had not reached

THE PASTOR 7

him but had been pulling at the coats of those before
them.

He saw it so clearly, he could not help smiling,
though the cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
It was horrible.

He, to be an outcast on account of drink — a dis-
graced clergyman ! Was there any one on earth more
despicable?

He, to be a wayside beggar, to lie drunk in the
ditches, go clad in rags, and consort with vaga-
bonds!

The prayer was over, and he was about to read
his sermon, when a thought struck him and checked
the words on his lips. He remembered that this
would be the last time he would stand in a pulpit
and proclaim the glory of God.

The last time — that touched him. He forgot the
Bishop and the drinking; he only felt that he must
take the opportunity and bear witness to the glory
of his God.

The nave of the church, with all his hearers,
seemed to sink deep, deep down: the roof was raised,
and he could see right into heaven. He stood alone,
his soul soaring to the opening heavens, and his
voice grew strong and joyous as he spoke of the
glory of God.

He was inspired, and forgot his written text;
while thoughts descended upon him like a flight of
tame doves, and he felt that it was not he who spoke.

8 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

But he also knew that none could surpass him in
splendor and majesty, as he stood there and bore
witness to his God.

While the fire of inspiration burned, he spoke;
but as it presently ebbed away, and the heavens
closed, and the nave of the church rose again from
the depths, he fell on his knees and wept, for he
knew that life held for him no higher moment, and
it was past.

After the morning service there was a vestry meet-
ing, presided over by the Bishop, who inquired what
cause of complaint the congregation had against
their pastor.

No longer angry and defiant, as he had been
before the sermon, the young man hung his head
in shame. Oh, the wretched stories that would now
be brought forward!

But no one spoke — there was silence round the
big table in the vestry house.

He glanced round, first at the sexton — he was
silent; then at the vestry-men, the richer peasants,
the owners of the iron works — they were all silent.
They sat with firmly closed lips and looked down
at the table rather awkwardly.

"They are waiting for some one to speak first,"
he thought.

At last one of the vestry-men cleared his throat.

" I think I may say that, we have a v£ry excep-
tional pastor," he said.

THE PASTOR 9

" Your Lordship has heard how he can preach,"
put in the sexton.

The Bishop mentioned the unobservance of the
church services.

"Our pastor may be ill occasionally, like any
other man," replied the peasants.

He hinted at their previously expressed disap-
proval of his ways.

They defended him with one accord. He was so
young, there was no danger but things would come
right. Indeed, if he would only preach every Sun-
day as he had preached that morning, they would
not exchange him for the Bishop himself.

There was no prosecution, there could be no
judgment.

The pastor felt how his heart expanded, how
lightly the blood flowed along his veins. Ah ! he was
no longer among enemies, he had won these people
when he had least expected it, and he could retain
his priestly calling.

When the meeting was over, the Bishop, all the
clergy, and the chief parishioners went to dine at
the parsonage.

The wife of a neighbor had undertaken to ar-
range matters,as the young preacher was unmarried.
She had managed everything in the best possible
manner, and for the first time he saw that the par-
sonage could be made habitable. The long dining-
table had been carried out of doors, and stood under

io GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

the pine trees, looking very inviting with its snowy
cloth, its blue and white china, its glittering glass,
and bright-colored serviettes. Two birch trees had
been cut down and placed close to, the house door
as a decoration, juniper twigs were strewn over the
hall floor, garlands hung from the ceiling, flowers
decked every room, the smell of mould had been
expelled, and the green window-panes shone cheer-
fully in the sunlight.

The young pastor was so radiantly happy, he felt
sure he would never drink again.

All who sat at that dinner rejoiced; those who
had forgiven past transgressions were happy, and
the clergy were glad to have escaped a great scandal.

The good Bishop raised his glass, and told them
that he had entered upon this visit with a heavy
heart, for he had heard many evil reports. He had
gone forth to meet Saul — but behold, Saul had been
changed to Paul, who was to do greater work than
any among them. And the reverend man spoke of
the rich talents which were the portion of their
young brother, and praised them highly, not with
the intent of awakening his vanity, but as an en-
couragement to put forth all his strength and guard
himself, as all they must do who have a more than
usually heavy but precious burden to bear.

The young pastor drank no wine at that dinner,
but he was intensely excited. The great and unex-
pected happiness affected him — the divine fire of

THE PASTOR n

inspiration had touched him, and he had won the
love of his fellow-men; and when evening came, and
all his guests had departed, the blood still coursed at
fever heat through his veins. Late into the night,
he sat in his room, letting the air stream in through
the open window to cool that feverish excitement,
that restless happiness which would not let him
sleep.

Suddenly a voice broke the silence.

"Are you still awake, parson?'

And a man strode over the grass plot to the open
window.

The pastor recognized Captain Kristian Bergh,
one of his most staunch boon companions. An ad-
venturer without house or home was this Captain
Kristian — a giant in size and strength, as big as
Gurlita Cliff, and as stupid as a mountain gnome.

"Of course I'm awake," he answered; "this is
no night for sleeping."

And listen to what the Captain tells him! The
giant, too, had his ideas upon the events of the day
— he understood that the time had come when his
friend might fear to continue in the old ways. He
could never feel secure now — those clergy men from
Karlstad, who had been here once, might come
again; so he, Kristian Bergh, had laid his heavy
hand to the good work, and had so arranged mat-
ters that they would never come again — neither
they nor the Bishop. Hereafter, he and his friend

i2 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

might drink as much as they pleased at the parson-
age.

Hear him, what a feat he has accomplished!

When the Bishop and his two companions had
entered their carriage, and the door had been firmly
closed upon them, he had climbed upon the driv-
ing seat, and had driven them a dozen miles on their
homeward way in the clear summer night.

It was then they had learned that life sits inse-
curely even in the worthiest breasts. He had driven
at a break-neck pace, as a punishment on them for
not allowing an honest man to drink in peace.

He did not drive along the road, or guide the
horses, but went over ditches, and half-cleared fields
full of tree stumps. He tore down the hillsides and
along the shores of lakes, where the water splashed
over the wheels and the carriage half sank in the
marshy ground, and over bare rocks, where the
horses slid downward on stiffly braced feet. And
meanwhile, behind the leather curtains, the Bishop
and his companions were muttering prayers in terror
for their lives — they had never known such danger
before.

Imagine what was their appearance when they
arrived at Rissater post station, alive, but shaking
like peas in a pod!

"What is the meaning of this, Captain Kris-
tian?" asked the Bishop, as the Captain opened the
door for him.

.THE PASTOR 13

" The meaning is that the Bishop will think twice
before making a second visitation to Gosta Ber-
ling," replied the Captain, having prepared the sen-
tence beforehand.

" Greet Gosta Berling from me," answered the
Bishop, "and say that neither I nor any other
bishop will ever come to him again."

And this was the brave deed told at the open
window on that summer night. Captain Kristian
had only had time to return the horses to the post
station and come on with the news.

" And now you can be at peace, good comrade,"
said he.

But ah ! Kristian Bergh, the rectors sat with pale
faces behind the leather curtains, but the face of
this preacher is paler still. He even lifted -his arm
and aimed a fearful blow at the coarse, stupid face
of the giant before him, but he checked himself,
closed the window with a crash, and turned into the
room, shaking his clenched fist above his head.

He, who with divine inspiration had proclaimed
the majesty of God that morning, felt now that God
had mocked him.

The Bishop could only think that Captain Bergh
had been instructed ; he must believe he had acted
the hypocrite all day. He would be suspended and
dismissed.

When morning came, the young pastor had left
the parish. It was not worth while to remain and try

14 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

to defend himself. God had mocked him. He would
not help him. He knew he would be disgraced,
God willed it so, and he might as well go at once.

This took place about 1820 in a distant parish
in western Varmland.

It was the first misfortune that befell Gosta Ber-
ling; it was not the last.

Young horses who cannot bear the whip or spur
find life hard. At every smart they start forward and
rush to their destruction, and when the way is stony
and difficult, they know no better expedient than
to overturn the cart and gallop madly away.

The llerrar

oo

ONE cold day in December a beggar was climb-
ing the ascent to Bro. He was clad in the poor-
est rags, and his shoes were so worn that the cold
snow wet his feet.

The Lofven is a long, narrow lake in Varmland,
contracting at several points to a mere strait. It
stretches northward to the Finn Forests and south-
ward to Vanern. Several parishes lie along its shores,
but the parish of Bro is the largest and most wealthy.
1 1 comprises a wide expanse of country, both on the
eastern and western shores of the lake ; but the larger
estates, such as Ekeby and Bjorne, renowned for
their riches and their natural beauty, lie on the west-
ern shore, and here also is the large village of Bro,
with its parsonage and county court, its Major's
house, and inn, and market-place.

The village is built on a steep slope. The beggar
had passed the tavern at the foot of the hill, and was
making his way to the parsonage, which stood on
the crest.

Before him, on the road, a little girl was dragging
a small hand-sledge laden with a sack of flour. The
beggar overtook and spoke to her.

" What a little horse to drag such a heavy load!'
he said.

The child turned and glanced at him. She was

16 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

small for her twelve years, and had sharp, inquiring
eyes and a firmly closed mouth.

"Would to God the horse was smaller and the
load bigger, so it would last longer," she answered.

"Are you taking home your own fodder, then?'

"Yes, I am. Young as I am, I must find my own

i* • »

living.

The beggar grasped the back of the sledge, in-
tending to help it forward, but she turned instantly,
saying,

"You need not think I shall give you anything
for your trouble."

He laughed.

"You must surely be the daughter of the Broby
parson," he exclaimed.

"That is just who I am. Many have a poorer
father, none have a worse, though it is a shame his
own child should say so."

"Is it true, then, that he is both a miser and
wicked, this father of yours?'

"He is miserly, and he is wicked; but people
say his daughter will be worse, if she lives."

" I should think they might be right. I should
like to know where you got that sack of flour?'

"Well, it makes no difference if you know or not.
I took the rye out of the granary this morning,
and I 've been to the mill with it."

"Won't he see it when you bring it home?'
Well, you certainly never finished your appren-

(C

THE BEGGAR 17

ticeship. My father is away on parish duty, of

course.'

(C

There is someone driving behind us. I hear the
snow creaking under' the sledge runners. Think —
if it should be he!1

The child listened and looked round, and then
burst into a storm of tears.

"It is father," she sobbed. "He will kill me —
he will kill me!"

"H'm, good advice is precious, and prompt ad-
vice is better than silver and gold," remarked the
beggar.

"See," cried the child, "you can help me. Take
the rope and draw the sledge, and father will think
it is yours."

"What shall I do with it afterwards?" asked the
man, as he threw the rope over his shoulders.

"Take it where you like at present, but when it
gets dark, bring it to the parsonage. I '11 be on the
lookout for you. Mind you bring both sledge and
flour; you understand?'

"I '11 try."

"God have mercy on you if you don't," she
shouted, as she sprang up the path to reach home
before her father arrived.

The beggar turned the sledge, and with a heavy
heart guided it back to the tavern.

He, poor wretch, had had his dream while wan-
dering through the snow with half-frozen feet. He

1 8 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

had dreamed of the great forest north of the lake,
of the great primeval forest.

Here, in the parish of Bro, as he made his way
from the Upper to the Lower Lofven, in this land
of wealth and joy, where the estates lay side by side,
and the great iron foundries adjoined one another,
every path seemed too steep for him, every room
too narrow, every bed too hard. A bitter longing for
the quiet of the great forest had taken possession
of him.

Here, he heard the thunder of the flails on every
threshing floor, as if the grain were unfailing; here,
loads of timber came in endless succession from the
inexhaustible forests, and the heavy wagons of ore
obliterated thedeep ruts cut into the roads by the pre-
ceding carts; here, sledgefuls of guests drove from
one estate to another, and it seemed to him as if
Joy held the reins, and Youth and Beauty stood on
the runners. Oh, how he longed, as he watched them,
longed for the peace of the everlasting forest!

There the trees rise straight and column-like from
the level, snow-covered ground. Wreaths of snow
hang on the motionless branches; the wind is
powerless, and can only sway gently the tops of the
fir trees. He would go there, make his way into the
very depth of the great forest, till his strength failed
him, and he fell down under the great trees to die
of hunger and cold.

He longed for the great murmuring grave which

THE BEGGAR 19

awaited him beyond the Lofven, where the powers
of death would at last gain the mastery over him,
where hunger and cold and weariness and past
drunkenness would at last destroy the body, which
had been able to withstand so much.

He returned to the tavern, intending to remain
there till the evening, and entered the tap-room,
where he rested in heavy mood on the bench, still
dreaming of the everlasting forest.

The landlady took pity on him, and gave him
a glass of strong gin. She even gave him a second
glass, as he begged so eagerly for it; but more than
that she refused, and the beggar grew desperate. He
must have some more of that strong, sweet drink,
his heart must dance once more, his thoughts flame
in the transport of intoxication ! Oh, that sweet
drink! Summer's sun and summer's song, sum-
mer's scent and beauty were surging in its white
transparency. Once again, before he departed into
night and darkness, he must drink of the summer's
sun and joy.

So he bartered first the flour, then the sack, and
lastly the sledge for drink. He had got sufficient
now, and slept away the most of the afternoon in
the tap-room.

When he awoke, he knew there was but one thing
left for him to do. As his miserable body had so
completely gained ascendency over his soul; as he
had fallen so low that he could betray the trust of

20 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

a child; as he was a living shame on earth, he must
relieve the earth of the burden of so much wretch-
edness. He must free his soul and let it return to
God.

As he lay half stupefied on the bench, he passed
sentence upon himself. " Gosta Berling, disgraced
clergyman, charged with stealing the sustenance of
a hungry child, is sentenced to death. What death?
— Death in the snowdrifts."

He clutched his cap and staggered out. He was
not quite awake, nor was he sober, and he wept,
thinking of his degraded soul which he was going to
set at liberty. He did not go far, nor did he leave
the highway. A deep drift lay close at hand; he cast
himself into it and tried to sleep again.'

None knew how long he lay there, but life still
dwelt within him when, later in the evening, the
parson's little daughter ran down the road with a
light in her hand and found him lying there. She
had expected him hours ago, and at last ran down
to the village to find him. She recognized him at
once, and tried to shake him, screaming loudly.

She must know what he had done with her sack
of flour. He must revive, if only to tell her what had
become of the sledge and meal-sack. Her father
would kill her if the sledge were not forthcoming.
She bit the hand of the sleeping man, scratched his
face, and screamed as if crazy.

Just then some one drove by.

THE BEGGAR 21

"Who the devil is screaming like that?" a harsh
voice called.

" I want to know what this man has done with my
meal-sack and my sledge," sobbed the child, con-
tinuing to beat with clenched fists on the beggar's
breast.

"Is it a frozen man you are treating like that?
Off with you, you wild cat!*

The new arrival was a big, rough woman. She got
out of her sledge, and came to the drift; she lifted
up the child by the back of her neck and flung her
into the road, stooped, and slipping her arms under
the unconscious man, carried him to her sledge and
laid him gently down.

" Come with me to the tavern, wild cat," she called
to the parson's daughter, "and we will see what you
have to do with this affair."

An hour later the beggar was sitting on a chair
near the door of the best room in the tavern, and
before him stood the imperious woman who had
saved his life.

As Gosta Berling now saw her, on her way home
from inspecting the charcoal-burning in the forest,
with sooty hands, a clay pipe in her mouth, dressed
in a short jacket of unlined sheepskin over a striped
woollen homespun skirt, with tarred boots on her
feet and a sheathed knife thrust into the breast of
her jacket, — as he saw her thus, with her grey hair
brushed away from her beautiful face, he had heard

22 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

her described scores of times, and he knew at once
he had fallen into the hands of the famous lady of
the Manor, the Major's wife at Ekeby.

She was the most powerful woman in Varmland,
the owner of seven foundries, accustomed to com-
mand and to be obeyed; and he was only a misera-
bly weak man, waiting for death, destitute of every-
thing, knowing full well that every path was too
steep for him, every room too narrow, and he trem-
bled as she looked at him.

She stood for some time gazing silently at the
human wreck before her — at the red, swollen hands,
the enfeebled body, and the splendid head, which
even in its downfall was radiant in wild beauty.

"You are Gosta Berling, the mad parson?" she
asked.

The beggar was silent.

"I am the Major's wife at Ekeby!"

A shudder ran through him. He clasped his
hands tremblingly and lifted beseeching eyes. What
would she do? Would she compel him to live? He
trembled before her power. And he had so nearly
gained the peace of the everlasting forest !

She opened the conversation by saying that the
child had received her sledge and sack of flour, and
that she had a refuge for him, as for so many other
waifs and strays, in the cavaliers' wing at Ekeby
Hall. She offered him a life of idleness and pleasure,
but he answered that he must die.

THE BEGGAR 23

Then she struck the table with her clenched fist,
and gave him a piece of her mind.

"Oh, indeed, you want to die, do you? Well, I
shouldn't have been so greatly surprised if I had
found you to be really alive. But look at your half-
starved body, your helpless limbs, and dim eyes!
Do you mean to tell me there is anything left to
kill? Do you suppose it is necessary to lie stiff and
straight and to be nailed into a coffin to be dead?
Don't you suppose that, standing here, I can see
how dead you are, Gosta Berling? What have you
but a skull in place of a head, and worms creeping
out of your eyes? Don't you taste the earth in your
mouth, and don't you hear your bones rattle when
you move? You have drowned yourself in drink,
Gosta Berling; you are already dead.

"Is it the shame of having once been a preacher
that is driving you now to kill yourself? More
honor would be gained if you would employ your
talents and be of some use on God's green earth.
Why didn't you come to me in your trouble, and
I should have put things right for you? And now
I suppose you expected to win some respect when
you were laid out, and people spoke of you as a
beautiful corpse?'

The beggar sat calm, almost smiling, while she
thundered forth her anger. "No fear," he thought,
joyfully; "the forest awaits me, she has no power

to move me.1

cc
cc

24 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

But suddenly the Major's wife was silent — and
took two or three turns about the room. Then she
drew up a chair to the fire, placed her feet on the
hearth, and rested her elbows on her knees.

Good God," she said, half laughing to herself,
what I said was so true, I did n't notice it myself.
Don't you think, Gosta Berling, that most people
in the world are dead or half dead? Do you think
we are all alive? Ah, no!

" Look at me. I am the Lady of the Manor at
Ekeby and the most powerful woman in Varmland.
If I lift a finger, the county police must skip; if I
lift two, the bishop does the same; and if I lift three,
I can make the archbishop and council and all the
judges and landed proprietors in Varmland dance
a polka on Karlstad market-place. And yet I tell
you, boy, I am nothing but a dressed-up corpse.
God alone knows how little life there is in me!>:

The beggar leaned forward in his chair and
listened anxiously. The old lady rocked herself
before the fire, and never glanced at him as she
spoke.

"Don't you think," she continued, "that if I
were a living soul, and saw you sitting there, mis-
erable and sad, with thoughts of suicide in your
mind, that I could dispel them in a breath? I should
have tears and prayers to move you, and I should
save you — but now — I am dead. God knows how
little life there is in me!

THE BEGGAR 25

" Have you never heard that once I was the beau-
tiful Margarita Celsing? It was n't quite yesterday,
but even yet I can weep my old eyes red when I
think of her. Why is Margarita Celsing dead — and
Margarita Samzelius living? Why should the Ma-
jor's wife at Ekeby be alive, Gosta Berling?

"Do you know what Margarita Celsing was
like? She was tall and^slight and gentle, and knew
no evil; she was a girl over whose grave the angels
wept. She knew no evil, she knew no sorrow, and
she was good to all. And she was beautiful, really
beautiful.

"And there lived a splendid man in those days
— his name was Altringer. God alone knows how
he found his way up to the lonely foundry in the
wilderness where Margarita lived with her parents.
Margarita saw him — he was a splendid man — and
he loved her.

"But he was poor; so they determined to wait
for five years, as they do in the ballads.

" But when three years had passed, another man
wanted her. He was ugly and wicked, but her par-
ents believed him to be rich; and they forced Mar-
garita, by fair means and foul, by blows and hard
words, to take him as her husband. That day Mar-
garita Celsing died. Since then, there only exists
Major Samzelius' wife, and she is neither good
nor gentle, she knows much evil, and thinks little
of the good. I suppose you have heard what hap-

26 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

pened later. We lived at Sjo, here near the lake, the
Major and I; but he was not as rich as people had
said, and I had many hard days.

"And then Altringer came back, and he was a
wealthy man. He was Lord of Ekeby, the boun-
daries of which joined Sjo, and he was soon the
owner of seven foundries on the banks of the Lof-
ven. He was clever and capable, a splendid man in
every way.

"He helped us in our poverty: we drove in his
carriage; he sent food to our kitchen and wine to
our cellar. He filled my life with pleasures and
amusements.

"The Major went to the wars, but little we
cared. I was guest at Ekeby one day, and he came
to Sjo the next. Oh, life in those days was one long
dance of pleasure along the shores of Lofven Lake !
But presently people began to talk about us. If
Margarita Celsing had lived, it would have hurt
her, but it was nothing to me. Yet I did n't under-
stand the reason why I felt nothing, — that it was
because I was already dead.

"And tales of me were told to my father and
mother, as they worked among their mines in the
Alfdal forest. My mother lost no time in consider-
ing what she would do; she started off at once to
speak to me.

"One day, when the Major was away, and Al-
tringer and some others were dining with me, she

THE BEGGAR 27

drove up to the house. I saw her enter the room,
but I could not feel her to be my mother, Gosta
Berling. I greeted her as a stranger, and asked her
to sit down and dine with us.

"She tried to address me as her daughter, but I
told her she was mistaken, my parents were both
dead, they had died on my wedding-day.

"And she entered into the comedy. She was sev-
enty, and had driven a hundred and forty miles
in three days, but she sat down to her dinner with-
out further ceremony. She was a wonderfully strong
woman.

"She remarked that it was unfortunate that I
should have experienced such a loss on my wed-
ding-day.

"'The greater misfortune was/ I replied, cthat
my parents had not died a day earlier; then the
wedding would never have come off.'

:< My lady is not happy in her marriage, then?'
c Yes/ 1 answered, c I 'm happy now. I am happy
in obeying the will of my dear parents.'

" She asked me if it was their will that I should
bring shame upon myself and upon them in deceiv-
ing my husband. No honor was brought to them by
my making myself the talk of the country-side.

"£They made their bed, and they must lie on it,'
I replied. 'And, by the way, the strange lady might
as well understand that I allowed no one to defame
my father's daughter.'

cc
cc

28 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

" We ate our dinner, we two — but the men around
us sat silent and dared hardly touch knife and fork.

"She remained a day with me, and then drove
home again. But all the time I never felt her to be
my mother. It seemed to me my mother was dead.

"When she was leaving, Gosta Berling, and I
stood beside her on the steps, and the carriage had
driven up, she said to me : c I have been here a whole
day, and you have not recognized me as your mother.
I have travelled a long and lonely road to see you
— a hundred and forty miles in three days — and I
tremble for shame of you, as if I had been beaten.
May you be disowned as I have been, cast out as I
have been! May the roadside be your home, straw
be your bed, and the lime-kiln your fireside ! May
shame and insult be your wage, and may others
smite you as I smite you!'

" And she gave me a hard blow on my cheek.

" But I lifted her in my arms, carried her down,
and placed her in the carriage.

"c Who are you/ I cried, cto dare to curse me?
Who are you to strike me? I will endure it from
no one ! '

"And I gave her back the blow again. The car-
riage drove away at that moment, and that was the
first time, Gosta Berling, I felt that Margarita Cel-
sing was dead. She had been good and guileless.
Angels wept at her death. If she had lived, she
would never have struck her mother."

THE BEGGAR 29

The beggar sitting at the door listened, and her
words drowned for a moment the tempting mur-
mur of the everlasting forest. This imperious woman
made herself his equal in sin, his sister in perdition,
to give him the courage to take up his life again. He
was to learn that sorrow and reproach rested on
other hearts than his alone.

He rose and approached her.

"Won't you live your life, Gosta Berling?" she
asked in a voice that broke into tears. " Why
should you die ? You may have been a good preacher,
but the Gosta Berling you drowned in drink could
not have been as blameless as the Margarita Celsing
I killed in hatred."

Gosta kneeled before her. " Forgive me — I can-
not," he answered.

"I am an old woman," she said, "hardened by
troubles, and yet I sit here and give myself to the
mercy of a beggar, whom I found in a snowdrift.
It serves me right — at any rate, if you kill your-
self, you can't tell anybody what a fool I 've been."

" I am doomed. Don't make the fight too hard
for me. I cannot live. My body has mastered my
soul. I must set it free and let it return to God."

"Oh, indeed — you think it will go there?'

"Farewell — and thank you."

" Farewell, Gosta Berling."

The beggar rose and went with bowed head to
the door. The woman made the way hard for him.

3o GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

When he reached the door, he felt compelled to
turn and glance back — and he met her look as she
sat motionless by the fire and gazed at him.

He had never seen such a look on any face, and
he stood and stared at her. She, who recently had
been hot and angry and scornful, was transfigured;
her eyes shone with sad and sympathizing love.
There was something within him — within his own
desponding heart, which broke at that look. He
leaned his forehead against the door-p"bst, stretched
his arms over his head, and wept as if his heart were
breaking.

Margarita Samzelius flung her pipe into the fire,
and came to him with a movement as tender as a
mother's.

"Hush — hush — my boy."

And she drew him down beside her on the bench
near the door, so that he wept with his head pil-
lowed on her knees.

"Are you still determined to die?'

He tried to rise, but she held him down by gen-
tle force.

" I tell you, and it is for the last time, you can
do as you like; but if you will live, I promise you
to take the parson's daughter and make a good
woman of her, so she will thank her God one day
that you stole her flour."

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

"Do you mean it?"

THE BEGGAR 31

"I promise, Gosta Berling."

Then he wrung his hands in despair. He saw
before him the child's cunning eyes, her little drawn
mouth and bony hands. She would receive protec-
tion and be cared for, and the marks of neglect
would disappear from her body; the anger would be
wiped out of her soul. The paths to the forest were
closed to him.

"I will not kill myself while she is under your
care," he said; "I knew you would compel me to
live. I felt that you would be too strong for me."

"Gosta Berling," she answered, solemnly, "I
have fought for you as for my own soul. I said to
God: 'If there is anything of Margarita Celsing
within me, let her come forth and save this man/
and He granted it. You felt her power, and could
not go. And it was whispered to me that you would
give up that terrible determination for the sake of
that poor child. Oh, you wild birds, you fly daringly,
but the Lord knows the net that will catch you ! '

"He is a great and wonderful God," said Gosta
Berling. " He has mocked me and rejected me, but
He will not let me die. His will be done."

From that day, Gosta Berling became one of the
cavaliers of Ekeby. Twice he attempted to make a
living for himself. Once the Major's wife gave him
a cottage and strip of land near Ekeby, and he tried
to live the life of a workman. It answered for a time,
but he grew weary of the loneliness and of the daily

32 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

round of small duties, and returned to Ekeby. Later
he became tutor at Borg to the young Count, Hen-
rik Dohna. While there he fell in love with Ebba
Dohna, the Count's sister, but she died just when
he thought to win her, and after that he gave up all
thought of being anything but a cavalier at Ekeby.
It seemed to him that for an unfrocked clergy-
man all roads to amendment were closed.

The Landscape

NOW I must beg those of my readers who
know this lake, this fertile plain, and those
blue mountains, to skip a few pages. They can do
this without compunction, for the story will be long
enough without them. But you will understand that
I must describe the country for those who do not
know it, as it was the scene where Gosta Berling and
the gay cavaliers of Ekeby spent their lives; and
those who have seen it will understand too that the
task surpasses the power of one who can only wield
the pen.

I should have chosen to confine myself to saying
that the name of the lake is the Lofven; that it is
long and narrow, and that it stretches from the dis-
tant forests in the north of Varmland to the Vanern
lowlands in the south ; that a plain borders each side
of the lake, and that a chain of undulating moun-
tains surrounds the lake valley. But this is not suf-
ficient, and I must try to picture in more graphic
words the scene of my childhood's dreams, the
home of my childhood's heroes.

The Lofven has its source far in the north, which
is a glorious land for a lake, for the forests and hills
gather water for it unceasingly, and streams and
brooklets pour into it all the year round. It has fine
white sand to recline upon ; it has islands and pro-

34 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

montories to admire and reflect; water-sprites and
nixies make it their playground, and it soon grows
strong and beautiful. Up in the north it is friendly and
gay. You should see it on an early summer morn-
ing, when it lies wide awake under its veil of mist,
to understand how happy it can seem.

It seems as if it would coquette with you at first,
so gently, so gradually does it creep out of its light
covering; and so enchantingly beautiful is it that
you hardly recognize it, till suddenly it flings its veil
aside and lies there naked and rosy, glittering in the
sunshine.

But the Lofven is not content with a life of plea-
sure alone. It pushes its way through the sand-hills
on the south; it contracts to a narrow strait, and
seeks a new kingdom for itself. It soon finds one,
and here again grows strong and mighty; it falls
a bottomless depth, and adorns a cultivated land-
scape. But now its waters grow darker, its shores are
less changeful, the winds are bleak, and the whole
character of the lake is more severe; yet it remains
ever proud and stately. Numbers of vessels and rafts
pass over its surface, and it is late before it can
go to its winter rest — not until Christmas. It is
often in angry mood, and, turning white with sudden
fury, wrecks the sailing boats, but it can also lie
in dreamy quiet and reflect the sky.

But once again it longs to make its way into the
world, though the hills are pressing close around it;

-

THE LANDSCAPE 35

and it must contract again to a narrow strait, and
creep between narrow sandy shores. Then it broad-
ens out for the third time, but not with its former
beauty and majesty. Its shores are lower and more
monotonous, wilder winds blow, the lake goes early
to its winter sleep. It is still beautiful, but it has lost
the strength of its youth and manhood — it is a lake
like any other. It throws out two arms to feel its
way to the Vanern, and when it finds it, casts itself
in aged weakness down the steep slope, and, after
this last thundering exploit, sinks to rest.

A plain follows the course of the Lofven, but it
has a hard fight to hold its own between the lake
and the hills, from the cauldron-like valley, which
is the lake's most northerly point, to the Vanern
lowlands, where it finally gains the mastery, and
spreads itself wide in indolent ease. The plain would
have unquestionably preferred to follow the lake
shores, but the hills give it no peace.

These hills are mighty granite walls, covered
with forest, full of chasms, abounding in moss and
lichen, difficult to penetrate into, and, in the days
we are speaking of, the home of numberless wild
beasts. There is many a tarn of inky black water
and many a quagmire in those long, far-reaching
ridges. Here and there you find a coal mine, or an
opening in the forest where the timber has been
felled; now and again a burned clearing, which
shows that the hills allow of a little cultivation ; but

36 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

for the most part they lie in placid calm, content to
let the lights and shadows play their everlasting
game over their slopes.

And the plain, which is good and fertile and loves
cultivation, wages constant war against the hills —
in all friendliness, be it understood.

"It is sufficient/' says the plain to the hills, "if
you raise your walls around me; then I shall be
amply protected/'

But the hills cannot be persuaded. They send out
long stretches of tableland to the lake; they make
lovely points from which to get a view; and, in fact,
it is so seldom that they will leave the shore that
the plain hardly ever has a chance of rolling itself
down to the soft sand of the lake shore. But it is
useless to complain.

" Be thankful we are here," answer the hills." Re-
member the time before Christmas, when day after
day the icy mists roll over the Lofven. We are doing
you a good turn by standing here."

The plain laments its want of room and that it
has no view.

"You are stupid," reply the hills. "You should
feel how it blows here near the water. At the least,
it requires a granite back and a pine tree covering
to bear it all. Besides which, you should be content
with looking at us."

And that is what the plain does. You know what
wonderful changes of light and shade and color

THE LANDSCAPE 37

pass over the hills. You have seen them in the mid-
day light sinking to the horizon, pale blue and low,
and at morningand evening risingin majestic height,
as deep a blue as the zenith of heaven. Sometimes
the light falls so sharply upon them, they look
green or blue-black, and every fir tree, every path
and chasm, shows clearly at a great distance.

Sometimes the hills drawaside and allowtheplain
to approach and look at the lake, but when it sees
it in its anger, hissing and spitting like a wild cat,
or sees it covered with cold mist (the water witches
being busy with washing and brewing), it soon ac-
knowledges that the hills were right, and returns
willingly to its narrow prison.

For many, many generations the plain has been
cultivated, and great things have been done there.
Wherever a stream, in its rapid course, has flung
itself over the sloping shores, mills and foundries
have sprung up. On the light, open places, where
the plain comes down to the lake, churches and
parsonages have been built; and in the corners of
the valleys, halfway up the hillsides, on the stony
ground where the corn will not grow, stand the
peasants' huts and the officers' buildings and here
and there a gentleman's mansion.

But it must be remembered that in 1820—30 the
land was not nearly so cultivated nor so populated
as it now is. Much was forest and lake and marsh
which is now reclaimed.

38 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

The population was scanty, and the people made
their living partly by carting and day work at the
many foundries ; while many left their homes to find
work at a distance, for agriculture alone would not
pay them. In those days they dressed in homespun,
ate oat cakes, and were content with a daily wage of
a krona. The poverty was great, but it was mitigated
by an easy-going temperament and an inborn apti-
tude for handicrafts, which greatly developed when
those people had to make their way among stran-
gers.

And as these — the lake, the fertile plain, and the
blue hills — make a most beautiful landscape, so
these people, even to-day, are strong, courageous,
and talented. Great progress has been made in their
well-being and education.

May they greatly prosper, the dwellers near the
lake and the blue hills ! It is some of their stories I
will now tell you.

Christmas Sve

SINTRAM was the name of the wicked pro-
prietor of Fors; he, with the clumsy body of
an ape, with long arms, bald head, and ugly grim-
acing face; he, whose whole delight it was to devise
evil.

Sintram was the name of him who chose vaga-
bonds and brawlers as workmen, and had only quar-
relling and lying serving-girls about him, who mad-
dened the dogs by thrusting pins into their noses,
and lived happily amid hateful people and furious
animals.

Sintram was the name of the man whose great-
est pleasure was to masquerade as the Evil One in
horns and tail and hoofs and hairy hide, and, sud-
denly appearing out of dusky corners, from behind
the oven or the woodbox, frighten timid women
and children.

Sintram was he who rejoiced to exchange old
friendship for new enmity, and to poison the heart
with lies.

Sintram was his name — and once he came to
Ekeby.

• •••••••*

Drag the big wood sledge into the forge, pull it into
the middle of the floor, and place the bottom of
a tar barrel over it ! That will serve as a table.

40 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Bring up anything that will do to sit upon —
three-cornered bootmakers' stools and empty pack-
ing-cases. Bring out the torn old armchair without
a back, and the old racing sledge without runners,
and the ancient coach!

Drag out the old coach; it will do for the speak-
er's chair ! Just look at it ! one wheel is missing, and
the whole body of the carriage has disappeared, only
the driver's seat remains, the cushion is ragged and
mouldy, and the leather is red with age. The crazy
old thing is as high as a house. Prop it up, prop it
up, or it will go over!

Hurrah ! it is Christmas Eve at Ekeby !

Behind the silken hangings of the double bed
sleep the Major and his wife, sleep and believe that
the cavaliers' wing is deep in slumber. The carters
and servant-girls may be asleep, overpowered by
porridge and strong Christmas ale, but not the gen-
tlemen in the cavaliers' wing. How could any one
think it?

No bare-legged smiths turn the pieces of molten
iron, no sooty boys keep up the supply of coal; no
big hammer hangs like an arm with a clenched fist
from the ceiling— the anvil is bare, the furnace does
not open its red mouth to devour the coal, the
bellows do not creak. It is Christmas — the forge
slumbers.

Sleep, sleep ! the cavaliers alone are awake. The
long pincers stand upright on the floor holding

CHRISTMAS EVE 41

candles in their claws. Out of the ten-gallon caul-
dron of brightest copper the flames flash blue into
the darkness of the roof. Beerencreutz's horn lan-
tern hangs on the forge hammer. Yellow punch
gleams like sunlight in the punch-bowl. Here is a
table and benches, and the cavaliers intend spend- •
ing Christmas Eve in the forge.

There is gaiety and carousal, music and song, but
the midnight festivity awakens no one. All noise
from the forge is drowned by the mighty thunder
of the waterfalls beyond it.

There is gaiety and carousal. Think if the Major's
wife were to see them ! Well, she would probably
sit down and empty a glass with them. She is a sen-
sible woman, a loud drinking song or a game of
Harlequin would not frighten her. She is the rich-
est woman in Varmland, as gruff as a man, and as
proud as a queen. She loves song and the music of
violins. Cards and wine she likes, and a table sur-
rounded with guests. She likes plenty in her pantry,
dancing and gaiety in her halls, and to have the
cavaliers' wing full of her pensioners.

Look at them sitting round their punch-bowl !
They are twelve — twelve men of might. There
is nothing effeminate about them, nor are they
dandies, but men whose renown will live long in
Varmland — brave and strong men.

They are not dried parchment nor closely tied-
up money-bags, but poor and reckless men, cava-

42 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

Hers both day and night. They have not lived a life
of ease as sleepy gentlemen on their own estates,
but they are wayfarers, happy-go-lucky men, the
heroes of a thousand adventures.

The cavaliers* wing has stood empty now for
many years, and Ekeby is no longer the chosen
refuge of homeless adventurers. Penniless noble-
men and pensioned officers no longer traverse Varm-
land in their one-horse shays: but let the dead live
again, let the joyous, careless, ever youthful men
rise once again !

They could all play one musical instrument, some
of them several. They were all as full of peculiari-
ties and sayings and fancies and songs as an ant-hill
is full of ants ; but each had his special attribute, his
highly prized cavalierly merit, which distinguished
him from his companions. First of all I must men-
tion Beerencreutz, the Colonel with the thick white
moustache, the famous camphio-player and singer
of Bellman's songs, and with him his friend and
comrade in the wars, the silent Major Anders
Fuchs, the great bear hunter. The third in the com-
pany would be little Ruster, the drum-major, who
for years had been the Colonel's orderly, but his
talent for brewing punch and for singing double-
bass had raised him to the rank of cavalier. After
him came the old ensign, Rutger von Orneclou,
a lady killer, wearing a stock and wig and finely
starched frill, and painted like a woman. He was

CHRISTMAS EVE 43

one of the chief cavaliers, and so was Kristian
Bergh,the strong captain, who was a doughty hero,
but as easily deceived as the giant in the fairy tales.
In the company of these two you often saw the
little round Squire Julius. He was clever, amusing,
and talented; artist, orator, and ballad singer, and
a good story teller; and he was ever ready with a
joke at the expense of the gouty little ensign or
the stupid giant.

There was also the great German, Kevenhuller,
the inventor of the self-propelling carriage and the
flying machine, he whose name still echoes in those
murmuring forests. He was a nobleman by birth
and appearance, with a high twisted moustache,
pointed beard, eagle nose, and small, squinting eyes
set in a network of wrinkles. Here sat also the great
warrior, Cousin Kristoffer, who never went beyond
the walls of the cavaliers' wing, unless a bear hunt or
a specially foolhardy adventure was "on the tapis;'
and near him sat Uncle Eberhard, the philosopher,
who had not come to Ekeby to spend his life in
amusement, but that, exempt from the necessity of
earning his bread, he might devote himself wholly
to completing his great work on the Science of
Sciences.

Lastly, I name the best of the troop, the gentle
Lovenborg, the man too good for this world, and
who understood little of its ways; and Lilliecrona,
the great musician, who had a good home of his

44 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

own, and always longed to be there, but who was
forever chained to Ekeby, for his temperament re-
quired splendor and change to be able to endure
life.

All these eleven men had left youth behind them,
and some of them had passed middle age; but
among them was one but thirty years old, in the
full power of body and mind. This was Gosta Ber-
ling, the cavalier of cavaliers, who in himself was
a greater orator, singer, musician, drinking cham-
pion, hunter, and gamester than all the others. He
had every cavalierly virtue. What a man the Lady
of the manor had made of him!

Look at him mounted on the speaker's chair!
The darkness hangs from the ceiling behind him
in heavy folds. His fair head shines out of it like
the head of a young god — the youthful lightbearer
who kindled chaos. He stands there, slight and
beautiful, on fire with the love of adventure. But
he speaks with great seriousness.

"Brother cavaliers, it draws toward midnight,
our festivity is well on its way; it is time for us to
drink the health of the thirteenth at table!'

"Dear Gosta," cried Squire Julius, "there is no
thirteenth, there are only twelve of us."

"Every year one man dies at Ekeby," continued
Gosta with increasing solemnity. " One of the guests
of the cavaliers' wing dies — one of the joyous, care-
less, ever youthful men die. Well, what does it mat-

CHRISTMAS EVE 45

ten? Cavaliers may not grow old. If our shaking
hands could not lift a glass, our failing eyes not
distinguish the cards, what would life hold for us,
and what good are we in life? Of the thirteen who
celebrate Christmas Eve in the forge at Ekeby,
one must die: but every year brings a man to keep
up our number, a man experienced in all ways of
amusement. One who can handle both the violin
and the playing-cards must come and fill the empty
place. Old butterflies ought to die while the sum-
mer sun still shines. I drink to the health of the thir-
teenth!"

" But, Gosta, we are twelve," remonstrated the
cavaliers, leaving their glasses untouched.

Gosta Berlingjwhom they called the poet, though
he never wrote any poetry, continued with unruf-
fled calm:

" Brother cavaliers, have you forgotten who you
are? You are the men who hold joy by force in
Varmland! You lend life to the violin-bow, you
keep the dancing going, and songs and amusement
ring through the land. Your hearts have learned to
refrain from gold, your hands from money. If you
did not exist, dancing would die, summer would die,
and roses and song and card-playing, and in the
whole of this blessed land there would be nothing
but iron and foundry proprietors. Joy shall live just
as long as you do. For six years I have celebrated
Christmas Eve at Ekeby, and no one has yet had

46 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

the courage -to drink to the thirteenth! Who is it
that is afraid to die ? '

" But, Gosta," they screamed, " when we are only
twelve, how can we drink to the thirteenth?'

Despair was painted on Gosta's face.

"Are we only twelve?' he cried. "Why, must
we then die out of the land? Shall we be but eleven
next year, and ten the year after? Shall our names
become a legend and our company be annihilated?
I call upon him, the thirteenth, for I am here to
drink his health. From the deep of the sea, from
the bowels of the earth, from heaven or from hell,
I call upon him who is to keep up the number of
the cavaliers!'

And there was a rustling in the chimney, the door
of the smelting-furnace was thrown open, and the
thirteenth appeared. He came in hairy hide, with
tail and hoofs and horns and pointed beard, and at
sight of him the cavaliers sprang up with a shout.

But in unrestrained glee, Gosta screamed, "Be-
hold the thirteenth, hurrah!'

And thus he appeared, man's ancient enemy,
appeared to the foolhardy who were disturbing the
peace of the Christmas Eve. The friend of the
witches who have signed away their souls in blood
on coal-black paper had come — he who had danced
with the Countess of Tvarsnas for seven days and
could not be exorcised by seven priests.

A multitude of thoughts stormed through the

CHRISTMAS EVE 47

minds of the old adventurers at sight of him. They
probably wondered on whose account he was out
that night.

Some of them were inclined to hurry away in
fear, but they soon learned that their horned friend
had not come to fetch away any of them to his dark
kingdom. The clinking sound of the punch glasses
and the songs had tempted him in. He wished to
enjoy the sight of men's happiness on that holy
Christmas Eve, and to throw aside the burden of
his rule for a time.

Oh, cavaliers, cavaliers ! which of you remembers
it is Christmas Eve? The angels are singing over the
shepherds in the fields; children lie in their beds
and fear to sleep too soundly that they may not miss
the beautiful early morning service. It is soon time
to light the Christmas candles in the church at Bro,
and far away in the forest homestead the boys have
been making a resinous torch, with which to light
their sweethearts to church. In the windows of the
houses the housewives have placed tiers of candles
ready for lighting when the stream of church-goers
begins to pass. The sexton starts the Christmas
hymn in his sleep, and the old rector lies in bed and
tries if he has still sufficient voice to chant "Glory to
God in the highest, on earth peace, good will toward

men.1

Oh, cavaliers, it would have been better for you
if you had been safe in your beds on this night of

48 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

peace instead of keeping company with the Prince
of Darkness !

But they cried him welcome as Gosta did. They
set a goblet full of wine in his hand, they gave him
the place of honor at the table, and seemed as glad
to see him as if his ugly, satyr-like face wore the
lovely features of their youth's beloved.

Beerencreutz invited him to a game of camphio;
Squire Julius sang him his best songs; Orneclou
talked to him of beautiful women, those charming
beings who sweeten existence. And he seemed to
enjoy himself, as with princely ease he leaned back
on the coach-seat of the old carriage, and lifted the
brimming goblet in his claw-beweaponed hand to
his smiling lips.

But Gosta Berling, of course, made him a speech.
" Your highness," he said, " we have expected you at
Ekeby for a long time, for you probably have some
difficulty in gaining access to any other paradise.
We live here without toiling, neither do we spin,
of which your highness is probably aware. Roast
sparrows here fly into our mouths, and the ale and
brandy flow in streams about us. This is a charming
place, you remark, my lord!

"We cavaliers have also expected you, because
our company has never really been complete. You
see the case is this — we are rather more than we
give ourselves out to be; we are the legendary troop
of twelve who go through Time. We were twelve

CHRISTMAS EVE 49

when we steered the world from the cloud-covered
heights of Olympus, and twelve when we lived as
birds in Ygdrasil's green crest. We follow wher-
ever legend leads. Did we not sit twelve strong men
round Arthur's Table, and were there not twelve
paladins in the army of Charles the Great? One
of us has been Thor, one Jupiter, as you can see
to-day. The godlike splendor gleams sometimes
through our rags; the lion's mane shows from
under the donkey's hide. Time has used us badly,
but when we are together, even the forge becomes
Olympus, and the cavaliers' wing a Valhalla.

"But, your highness, we have not been com-
plete in number. It is well known that in the fabled
group of twelve there is always a Loki, a Prome-
theus. Him have we lacked! Your highness, I bid
you welcome!'

"See, see," said the wicked one, "such grand
phrases, such grand phrases! And I — I have no
time to answer. Business, boys, business ! — I must
be off at once, or I would gladly serve you in any
part you choose. Thanks for to-night's entertain-
ment, old fellow, we '11 meet again."

Then the cavaliers inquired where he was going,
and he answered that the noble Fru Samzelius,
the owner of Ekeby, was waiting to have her con-
tract renewed. They were struck dumb with sur-
prise.

She was a stern and capable woman, the Lady of

5o GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Ekeby. She could lift a sack of rye on her broad
shoulders. She accompanied the transport of ore
all the way from the mines at Bergslagen to Ekeby.
She could sleep like a carter on the floor of the
granary with a sack for her pillow. In the winter
she sometimes watched the charcoal burning; in
the summer she would follow a timber raft down
the LofVen. A capable woman was she. She swore
like a trooper, and reigned like a king over her
seven foundries and her neighbors' estates, reigned
over her own parish and the neighboring par-
ishes— yea, over all the beautiful Varmland. But
to the homeless cavaliers she had been like a mo-
ther, and they had therefore closed their ears to the
whispers that told them she was in league with the
devil.

So, with great astonishment, they asked him what
contract she had made with him.

And their horned guest answered that he gave the
Major's wife her seven foundries on condition that
she sent him a man's soul every year.

Oh, what horror clutched at the hearts of the
cavaliers ! They knew it, of course, but they had
never realized it. At Ekeby each year one of the
cavaliers died — one of the joyous, careless, ever
youthful men. Well, what did it matter? Cavaliers
may not grow old. If their shaking hands could not
lift a glass, or their failing eyes distinguish the cards,
what could life hold for them ? What good were they

CHRISTMAS EVE 51

in life? Old butterflies ought to die while the sun
shines.

But now, only now, they grasped the meaning of
it all.

Alas, the woman! Had she given them so many
good meals, had she allowed them to drink her
strong brewed ale and her brandy, only that they
might fall from the drinking-halls and gaming-
tables at Ekeby down to the King of Darkness —
one every year, one for every flying year?

Alas, the woman ! the witch ! Strong men had
come to Ekeby, come thither to destruction. And
she ruined them there. Their brains were like
sponges, their lungs but dried ashes, their spirits
were darkened when they sank back on their death-
beds and were ready at last for the long journey —
destitute of hope, or soul, or virtue.

Alas, the woman ! Better men than they had died
like that, and so, too, would they die.

But the paralysis of fear did not hold the cava-
liers for long.

"You, Prince of Darkness,*' they shouted, "never
again shall you make your bloody contract with that
witch — she shall die. Kristian Bergh, the strong cap-
tain, has flung the heaviest hammer the forge con-
tains over his shoulder, and he will bury it to the
shaft in the hag's head. You will get no more souls
from her.

"And as for yourself, we will lay you on the

52 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

anvil and loosen the great hammer. We will hold
you with pincers under its blows, and teach you to
go hunting for the souls of cavaliers/'

He was a coward, was the dark gentleman, as is
known of old, and the talk of the great hammer did
not please him. He called Kristian Bergh back, and
began bargaining with the cavaliers.

"Take the seven foundries, cavaliers, and give
me the Major's wife."

" Do you think us as base as she is ? " cried Squire
Julius. "We will take Ekeby and all the other
foundries, but you must manage the Major's wife
yourself."

" What does Gosta say ? " asked the gentle Loven-
borg. " Gosta Berling must speak. We must have his
opinion on such an important subject."

"This is madness!' cried Gosta. "Cavaliers,
don't be made fools of by him! What have we
against the Major's wife? Regarding our souls, it
must be as fate ordains ; but it won't be with my
consent that we are ungrateful wretches, and act like
rogues and villains. I have eaten at her table for
many long years, and will not desert her now."

"Yes, go to the devil, if you feel inclined, Gosta.
We would rather reign over Ekeby."

" But are you raving mad, or have you drunk
yourselves out of your senses? Do you believe in
all this? Do you believe that he over there is the
Evil One? Don't you see that it is a cursed joke?'

cc

CHRISTMAS EVE 53

See, see!" cried the dark gentleman. "He has
not noticed that he is in a fair way to be ready for
me, and yet he has been at Ekeby for seven years.
He has not noticed how far he has got."

" Oh, nonsense, man ! Did n't I help you to hide
yourself in the furnace over there?'

"As if that made any difference; as if I am not
as good a devil as any other. Yes, yes, Gosta Ber-
ling, you are caught. You have become a fine spe-
cimen under Fru Samzelius' treatment!'

"She saved me; what am I without her?" said
Gosta.

"Of course, of course, just as if she had no pur-
pose in keeping you at Ekeby. You tempt many
to fall. You have great talents. Once you tried to be
independent; you let her give you a cottage, and
you became a workman and earned your own bread,
and every day she passed the cottage with a bevy of
beautiful girls in her train. Marienne Sinclaire was
with her once, and then you threw aside your apron
and spade, Gosta Berling, and became a cavalier
again."

"The road passed that way, you rascal."

"Yes, yes, of course, the road passed that way.
Afterwards you went to Borg to be tutor to Hen-
rik Dohna, and you very nearly became Count-
ess Marta's son-in-law. Who was it contrived the
young Ebba Dohna should hear you were only an
outcast parson, and should say you nay? It was the

54 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Major's wife, Gosta Berling — she wanted you
back."

"What of it?" said Gosta. "Ebba Dohna died
shortly after. I could not have won her in any

case/

(C

cc

The dark gentleman came close up to him and
whispered in his ear.

"Died — yea — certainly she died. She killed her-
self for your sake, but they never told you."

"You are no bad devil," said Gosta.

"It was the Major's wife who arranged it all, I tell
you. She wanted you back in the cavaliers' wing."

Gosta burst into a loud laugh.

You are no bad devil," he shouted wildly.
Why shouldn't we make a contract with you?
You are able to give us the seven foundries, I sup-
pose, if you feel inclined?'

"A good thing for you if you don't fight any
longer against good fortune."

The cavaliers drew an easy breath. It had come to
such a pass with them that they could do nothing
without Gosta. If he had refused to join the affair,
nothing would have come of it. And it was a great
thing for the poverty-stricken cavaliers to be made
masters of Ekeby.

" But notice," said Gosta, "we take the seven foun-
dries to save our souls — not for the sake of being
rich, prosperous people, who count their money
and weigh their iron. We refuse to be dried-up

CHRISTMAS EVE 55

parchment or tied-up money pouches; we are, and
still remain, cavaliers."

" The very words of wisdom," mumbled the dark
gentleman.

"So, if you give us the seven foundries for one
year, we will take them ; but remember this, if dur-
ing that time we do anything which is uncavalier-
like, anything sensible or useful or effeminate, you
can take all the twelve of us, when the year is out,
and give the foundries to whom you like."

The wicked one rubbed his hands with glee.

"But if we always behave like true cavaliers,"
continued Gosta, "you must never again make any
contract about Ekeby, and you forfeit your wage for
this year, both from us and from the Major's wife."

" That is hard," said the devil. " Oh, dear Gosta,
I ought to get one soul, one poor little soul. I might
as well have the Major's wife. Why do you spare
her?"

" I don't buy and sell such goods," said Gosta.
" But if you must have some one, you can take old
Sintram at Fors; he is about ready for you, I can
answer for it."

"See, see, that is worth mentioning," said the
dark gentleman without blinking — "the cavaliers
against Sintram. It will be a good year."

And so the contract was written with blood taken
from Gosta Berling's little finger, on black paper
supplied by the Evil One, with his own goose quill.

56 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

And when it was done, the cavaliers rejoiced. For
a whole year everything that the world contained
would be theirs, and afterwards there was always
some way out of the scrape.

They pushed aside their chairs and formed a ring
round the steaming kettle which stood in the mid-
dle of the floor. In their midst danced the Evil One,
leaping high, till at last he threw himself down be-
side the kettle, tilted it over, and drank.

Then Beerencreutz threw himself down beside
him, then Gosta, and after them all the other cava-
liers, till they lay in a ring round the kettle, which
was passed from mouth to mouth. At last a push
sent it over, and the hot, sticky liquid streamed
over them all.

When, swearing, they scrambled up, they found
their dark friend had disappeared, but his golden
promises still seemed to float like shining crowns
over their heads.

The Christmas Dinner

FRU SAMZELIUS celebrated Christmas Day by
giving a dinner-party at Ekeby. She took her
place as hostess at a table spread for fifty guests,
doing the honors with great splendor. The short
fur jacket and striped skirt and clay pipe were cast
aside. She rustled in silk, her bare arms were loaded
with gold, and pearls gleamed on her white throat.

But where were the cavaliers? Where were the
men who drank to the new owners of Ekeby out
of the burnished kettle on the black floor of the
forge ?

In the corner near the fireplace the cavaliers were
seated at a separate table; there was no room for
them that day at the big central table. They were
served later than the other guests, the wine flowed
sparingly, none of the pretty women cast a glance
in their direction, no one listened to Gosta's jokes.

The cavaliers were like tamed birds. They had
had but an hour's sleep before they started to the
early morning service at church, lighted on their way
by torches and the stars. They saw the Christmas
lights, they heard the Christmas hymns, and they
became smiling children again. They forgot the
Christmas Eve in the forge, as one forgets an evil
dream.

The Lady of Ekeby was a powerful and great

58 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

dame. Who would dare lift his arm against her?
Whose tongue would dare to bear witness against
her? Certainly the cavaliers never could, who for so
many years had eaten her bread and slept beneath
her roof. She placed them where she chose; she
could exclude them from her festivity altogether
if she wished, and they were powerless. God bless
them ! why, they could not exist away from Ekeby !

The guests at the big table were enjoying them-
selves. Marienne Sinclaire's beautiful eyes were
beaming, and you heard the low laugh of the gay
little Countess Dohna.

But the cavaliers were moody. Why were they
not with the other guests? What was the meaning
of this insulting arrangement of the table in the fire-
place corner? As if they were not fit for the best
society?

The hostess sat between Count Dohna and the
rector of Bro, while the cavaliers hung their heads
like deserted children, and last night's thoughts
awoke within them. Gay nonsense and ridiculous
sayings were but shy guests at the smaller table, for
the anger and the promises of last night had entered
the hearts of the cavaliers.

Certainly Squire Julius managed to convince
Kristian Bergh that the roasted grouse which were
being handed round at the big table would not suf-
fice for all the guests, but that did not cause much
amusement.

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 59

" I know they can't go round," he said. " I know
how many there were. But the cook was not at a
loss, Kristian Bergh; they have roasted crows for
us at the little table."

But Colonel Beerencreutz's lips unbend only to
a faint smile, and Gosta Berling had looked all day
as if he were considering the advisability of mur-
dering some one.

"Is n't anything good enough for cavaliers ? " he
said.

Captain Bergh was furious Had n't he cherished
a lifelong hatred for crows, those abominable caw-
ing things? He hated them so bitterly that he
dressed himself in a woman's fluttering skirt and
tied a kerchief over his head, and made himself
a laughing-stock to every man, in the autumn, for
the purpose of creeping within gunshot of them
when they were feeding on the fresh grain in the
corn-fields.

In spring he followed them to their dances on
the bare meadows in mating time and shot them.
He sought their nests in summer, and destroyed
their half-hatched eggs and the screaming unfeath-
ered young.

He now clutched the plate of grouse.

"Don't you think I recognize them?" he thun-
dered to the servant. " Do you suppose I must hear
them caw to know them? The devil — to offer Kris-
tian Bergh a crow — the devil !'

60 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

And taking up the grouse one by one he flung
them against the wall.

"The devil!" he shouted, "the devil! to offer
crows to Kristian Bergh ! '

Just as he was wont to throw the helpless nest-
lings against the cliffs he now threw the roasted
grouse against the wall of the dining-hall.

Grease and gravy flew around him; the birds
rebounded from the wall into the middle of the
floor. And the cavaliers rejoiced. Then the angry
voice of the Lady of Ekeby reached their ears.

"Turn him out!" she called to the servants.

But they dared not touch him. After all, he was
Kristian Bergh, the strong captain.

"Turn him out!"

He heard the order, and, terrible in his anger,
he turned to her as a bear turns from the fallen
adversary to the new persecutor. He strode toward
her table, his heavy tread shaking the floor, till he
stood before her with only the end of the table
between them.

"Turn him out!" thundered the Major's wife
again.

But he was mad; his furrowed forehead and his
great clenched fists filled all with awe. He was a
giant in size and strength. Both guests and ser-
vants trembled and dared not touch him — no one
dared touch him when such rage darkened his
senses.

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 61

He stood before the Lady of Ekeby and defied
her.

" I took the crows and threw them against the
wall; dare you say I did wrong?'

"Out with you, Captain!'

"Sh — you woman! — to offer Kristian Bergh
crows to eat! If I did the right thing, I would take
you and your seven d "

"A thousand devils! Kristian Bergh, don't you
dare to swear! No one swears here but myself!'

"Do you think I fear you, you witch? Do you
think I don't know how you got your seven foun-
dries?"

"Silence, Captain."

"When Altringer died, he gave them to you,
because he had been your lover."

"Will you be silent?"

" Because you had been such a faithful wife, Mar-
garita Samzelius; and the Major took the gift, and
let you manage the foundries, and pretended not
to understand, and Satan backed the whole affair —
but this is the end of it."

Margarita Samzelius sank into her chair, she was
pale and trembling, and it was with a low, strange
voice she reiterated, "Yes, this is the end of it, and
it is your work, Kristian Bergh ! '

At that tone Kristian Bergh shivered, his face
changed, and anxious tears filled his eyes.

I am drunk," he cried. " I don't know what I

cc

62 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

am saying; I have said nothing. Have I not been
her dog and slave for forty years, her dog and slave
and nothing more! She is Margarita Celsingwhom
I Ve served all my life. I can say nothing ill of her.
What should I say of the beautiful Margarita Cel-
sing? I am the dog that guards her door, and the
slave who bears her burdens. She may strike and
push me aside, but, you see, I bear it in silence. I
have loved her for forty years, how could I speak
evil of her? '

Ah, it was a wonderful sight to see him throw
himself down and pray forgiveness; and, as she sat
at the other side of the table, he crawled on his
knees till he reached her, and bent down to kiss the
hem of her skirt, and his tears wet the floor.

But not far from the Lady of Ekeby sat a strong
little man. He had curly hair, small, squinting eyes,
and aprominent under jaw, and heresembled a bear.
He was a man of few words. He was Major Sam-
zelius.

He rose when he heard Kristian Bergh's last
words ; so did his wife and all the fifty guests. The
women were trembling with fear of what was com-
ing, the men stood helpless, and at the feet of
Margarita Samzelius lay Captain Kristian, kissing
the hem of her skirt and wetting the floor with his
tears.

The Major's broad hairy hands clenched slowly;
he lifted his arm to strike.

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 63

But the woman spoke first — in her voice lay a
dull tone, which was unusual.

" You stole me," she cried. "You came like a rob-
ber and stole me. They forced me with blows and
hard words to be your wife. I have only served you
as you deserved."

The Major's broad fist was lifted; his wife fell
back a step and then spoke again.

" The living eel squirmsunder the knife ; awoman
married by force takes a lover. Will you strike me
now for what happened twenty years ago? Why
didn't you strike then? Don't you remember he
lived at Ekeby and we at Sjo? Don't you remember
how he helped us in our poverty? We drove in his
carnages, we drank his wine. Did we hide anything
from you? Were not his servants your servants?
Did not his gold weigh down your pockets? Did
you not take the seven foundries? Then you were
silent and took his gifts. It was then you should
have struck, Berndt Samzelius, it was then!'

Her husband turned from her and gazed around
at all those present, and he read in their faces that
they thought her right — that they all thought he
had taken Altringer's property and gifts as a price
for his silence.

"I never knew it," he cried, and stamped on the
floor.

"It is well, then, that you should know it now,"
she interrupted, with a mocking ring in her voice.

64 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"I almost feared you might die without knowing
it. For now that you know it, I can talk freely with
you, who have been my lord and jailer. You may
know it now, that, in spite of you, I was his from
whom you stole me. You may know it now, all you
who have slandered me."

It was the old love that shone in her eyes and
rang in her voice. She had her husband before her,
with his clenched fist; she read horror and contempt
in the faces around her; she felt it to be the last
hour of her power ; but she could not help rejoicing
when for the first time she spoke openly of what
was the happiest remembrance of her life.

" He was a man — a splendid man. Who were you
that you dared come between us ? I never saw his
like. He gave me happiness ; and he gave me riches.
Blessed be his memory!'

Then the Major dropped his arm without strik-
ing; he knew now how he would punish her.

"Out," he shouted, "out of my house!'

She stood motionless.

But the cavaliers gazed at each other with pale
faces. It seemed as if all that the Evil One had pro-
phesied was being fulfilled. This, then, was the re-
sult of the contract not having been renewed. If this
was true, it must also be true that for more than
twenty years she had been sending cavaliers to hell,
and they also were destined for that journey. Oh,
the wretch !

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 65

" Out with you ! " screamed the Major. " Beg your
bread by the wayside, you shall have no further joy
of your riches, you shall have no dwelling in his
houses ! It is the end of the Lady of Ekeby, and the
day you set your foot within my house I will kill
you!'

"You turn me out of my own home?'

"You have no home — Ekeby is mine."

A feeling of helplessness came over her, and she
fell back to the threshold, the Major following her
closely.

"You, who have been the unhappiness of my
life, are you to have the power to treat me so? " she
wailed.

"Out— out!"

She leaned against the door-post, clasped her
hands, and hid her eyes. She was thinking of her
mother, and whispered to herself:

" May you be denied as I've been denied, may
the roadside be your home, and the strawstack be
your bed!' So it had come to pass — so it had
come.

It was the good old rector from Bro and the Judge
from Munkerud who came forward and tried to
calm Major Samzelius. They said he would do wis-
est in letting all old stories die, let things be as they
were, forget and forgive. But he shook aside the
friendly hands from his shoulders. He was as terri-
ble to cross as was Kristian Bergh.

66 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"It is no old story," he cried. "I knew it not till
to-day ; I could not punish her unfaithfulness be-
fore."

At that his wife lifted her head and regained her
old courage.

" You shall go before I do. Do you imagine I fear
you?" she said, and came forward again.

The Major did not answer her, but he watched
her every movement, ready to strike her down if
he could not be quit of her in any other way.

"Help me, good gentlemen!" she cried; "help
me to get this man bound and taken away till he
regains the use of his senses. Remember who I am
— and who he is. Think of it before I am obliged to
yield to him. I manage all Ekeby, and he sits feed-
ing his bears all day in their bear-hole. Help me,
my good neighbors! There will be terrible misery
here if I leave you. The peasant earns his livelihood
by cutting my forests and carrying my ore. The
colliers live by providing me with coal, and the lum-
bermen steer my rafts, /give the work which brings
them riches. The ironsmiths and carpenters and day
laborers all live by serving me. Do you think that
man can hold my work in hand? I tell you that if
you send me away, you bring down famine upon
yourselves."

Again hands were raised in help, again an attempt
was made to pacify the Major.

"No," he screamed, "out with her! Who dares

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 67

justify a faithless wife? I tell you, if she does not
go voluntarily, I will lift her up and carry her to
my wild bears."

Then, in her great distress, the Lady of Ekeby
turned to the cavaliers.

" Will you allow me to be driven from my home,
cavaliers? Have I let you freeze in winter? Have
I refused you wine and ale? Did I require work
from your hands because I gave you food and cloth-
ing? Have you not enjoyed yourselves at my side
as trustfully as children? Have you not danced
through my halls, and have not gaiety and laughter
been your daily bread? Don't let this man who has
been the great unhappiness of my life, don't let him
drive me from my home, cavaliers! Don't send me
to be a beggar by the wayside!'

During these words Gosta Berling made his way
to a lovely dark-haired girl who was sitting at the
big table.

" You were often at Borg five years ago, Anna,"
he said. "Tell me, was it the Major's wife who told
Ebba that I was an unfrocked clergyman?'

"Help her, Gosta," the girl answered.

"You can understand, I suppose, that I wish to
know first if she made a murderer of me?'

"Oh, Gosta, what terrible thoughts! Help her,
Gosta."

"You won't answer me, I see — then Sintram
told the truth."

68 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

And Gosta went back to the cavaliers, and would
not lift a finger to help Margarita Samzelius.

Oh! if she had not placed the cavaliers at a sepa-
rate table in the chimney-corner, for the thoughts
of last night are astir in their hearts, and their faces
burn with anger hardly less than the Major's ! Mer-
cilessly they stand aloof during her pleading. Every-
thing they saw emphasized the facts they had learned
last night.

"One can see she did not get her contract re-
newed," muttered one of them. "Go to hell, you
witch!" screamed another. "We ought by right to
turn you out/'

"You scoundrels ! " shouted weak old Uncle Eb-
erhard to the cavaliers; "don't you understand it
was Sintram?'

" Of course we know," answered Julius, " but what
of that? Can't it be true in spite of that? Doesn't
he do the work of the Evil One? Don't they under-
stand one another well?'

"You go, Eberhard, you go and help her — you
don't believe in hell," they cried, mockingly.

And Gosta Berling stood motionless, without
word or movement.

No — out of that screaming, threatening, mut-
tering crowd of cavaliers she could get no help.

She turned again to the door, and lifted her
clasped hands to her eyes.

" May you be denied as I am denied ! " she cried,

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 69

in her bitter sorrow. "May the wayside be your
home, and the strawstack be your bed ! " And she
laid one hand on the door-handle, and lifted the
other on high.

"Mark you — you who have beheld my down-
fall— mark that your hour is coming soon. You
shall be cast abroad, and your place shall be empty.
How will you stand where I do not support you?
You, Melchior Sinclaire, you have a heavy hand,
and you let your wife feel it — take care! You, par-
son of Broby, the punishment is coming! Madame
Uggla, look to your home, poverty is at its doors !
You beautiful women, Elizabeth Dohna, Marienne
Sinclaire, Anna Stjarnhok, don't think I shall be the
only one to fly from my home ! Be on your guard,
cavaliers, a storm is rising, and you will be swept
away — your day is now past — yes, forever past! I
do not mourn for myself, but for you, for the storm
will go over your heads, and who can stand when
I fall? Oh, my heart is heavy for the sake of the
people! Who will give them work when I am
gone?'

She opened the door, and then Kristian Bergh
lifted his head and said, "How long must I lie here
at your feet, Margarita Celsing? Will you not for-
give me, that I may rise and fight for you?'

It was a hard struggle the Major's wife had with
herself, for she knew that if she forgave him, he
would fight her husband, and the man who had

70 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

loved her faithfully for forty years would probably
be a murderer.

"Am I also to forgive?" she said. "Are you not
the cause of all this trouble, Kristian Bergh? Go to
the cavaliers and rejoice at your work!'

And so she left them. She went calmly, leaving
terror behind her; she fell, but she was not without
greatness in her fall. She did not stoop to weak re-
pining, but even in her old age she rejoiced in the
love of her youth. She did not stoop to wailing and
tears when she left all behind her, and did not shrink
from wandering through the land with a beggar's
scrip and staff. She mourned over the poor and the
happy, careless people on the banks of the Lofven,
over the cavaliers, and all those whom she had pro-
tected and guarded. Deserted by every one, she had
still strength to turn aside from hej last friend, so
as not to condemn him to being a murderer.

She was a powerful woman, great in strength
of will and mighty in government. We shall hardly
see another like her.

Next day Major Samzelius broke up his home
at Ekeby,and moved to his own house at Sjo, which
lies quite near the great foundry.

It had been plainly stated in Altringer's will, by
which the Major had received the huge property of
the seven foundries, that none of them were to be
sold or given away, but after the death of the Major
they were to pass to his wife and her heirs. As, there-

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 71

fore, he could not destroy the hated gift, he gave it
into the hands of the cavaliers, thinking their bad
management would do Ekeby and the other foun- *->
dries the greatest harm.

And as no one in the land doubted that Sintram
worked the will of his evil master, and as all his
promises to the cavaliers had been so strangely ful-
filled, they were all sure that the contract he had
made with them would be carried out to the small-
est detail, and they were determined to do nothing
sensible or practical or uncavalier-like, and they
were also quite convinced that the Major's wife was
an abominable witch who had plotted their ruin.

Old Uncle Eberhard, the philosopher,madegame
of their belief, but who cared what such a man as
Uncle Eberhard said — he was so obstinate himself
in his beliefs that if he had stood in the midst of
the fires of hell, and had seen all the devils grinning
at him, he would still have said they were not there,
because it was impossible that they should exist.
Uncle Eberhard was a great philosopher.

Gosta Berling told no one what he thought. He
certainly felt he had little cause to thank the Ma-
jor's wife for making him an Ekeby cavalier, for it
now seemed better to him to be dead than to know
he had been the cause of Ebba Dohna's suicide.
He lifted no hand in vengeance against the Ma-
jor's wife, but neither would he help her. He could
not. But the cavaliers had come to great power and

72 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

splendor. Christmas was at hand with its fetes and
its pleasures; their hearts were full of joy, and, if
any sorrow hung over Gosta Berling, he did not
bear it in his face or on his lips.

Cjdsta Her/ing

IT was Christmas, and a ball was to be given at
Borg. At that time — and it must be nearly sixty
years ago — young Count Dohna lived at Borg. He
was newly married, and his countess was both young
and beautiful. Gay times were in store for the old
estate.

Invitations had also come to Ekeby; but of all
the cavaliers who were spending Christmas there,
Gosta Berling, the poet, as they called him, was the
only one who was inclined to accept.

Borg and Ekeby lie on opposite shores of the
narrow Lofven Lake — Borg is in Svartsjo parish,
Ekeby in Bro — and when the lake is frozen, it is
only a dozen miles from one estate to the other.

The penniless Gosta Berling was fitted out by
the old cavaliers for this festivity as if he were a
king's son who upheld the honor of the kingdom.
His coat with its shining gold buttons was new, his
cambric frills were finely starched, his patent leather
shoes shone. His overcoat was lined with the finest
beaver, and a cap of sable fur covered his fair, curly
head. They spread a bearskin with silver claws over
his racing sledge, and he was to drive black Don
Juan, the pride of the stable.

He whistled to Tankred, his white hound, and,
snatching up the reins, drove away gaily, carry-

74 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

ing with him an atmosphere of wealth and splen-
dor.

It was early when he started. It was Sunday, and
he heard the psalms being sung as he passed Bro
Church. Afterwards he turned into the lonely forest
road that led to Berga, Captain Uggla's home, where
he intended to stop and dine.

Berga was not a rich man's house. Hunger knew
the way to the Captain's thatch-covered dwelling,
but he was received with jokes and laughter and
entertainment, with song, as all other guests were,
and he left as unwillingly as they did.

Old Mamsell Ulrika Dillner stood on the steps
to welcome Gosta as he drove up. She was the house-
keeper and managed the weaving-looms, and, as she
curtsied to him, the false curls which hung round
her brown old face danced with delight. She carried
him off to the parlor, and poured forth the story
of the changes and chances of the house and its
inmates.

Trouble was at the door; hard times reigned at
Berga. They had no horse-radish, even, to eat with
their salt meat, and Ferdinand and the girls had
yoked old Disa to a sledge and gone off to Mun-
kerud to borrow some. The Captain was out shoot-
ing, and would probably bring home some tough
old hare which required more butter in the cook-
ing than it was worth. This was what he considered
" provisioning the family ' ' ! But, anyway, it was bet-

GOSTA BERLING— POET 75

ter than returning with a wretched fox — the worst
animal created, useless both living and dead.

And Fru Uggla? She had not left her room yet.
She was in bed reading a novel, as she did every
morning. An angel, such as she was, could not be
expected to do any work.

No, that must be done by those who are old and
grey like Mamsell Ulrika. Day and night she was
on her feet trying to keep things together. It was no
easy task; it was but the truth that they had had
no meat but bear hams all the winter. She certainly
expected no great wages — she had seen none as yet
— but they would not turn her out when she grew
too old to earn her bread. Even a housekeeper was
considered a human being here, and they would
certainly give old Ulrika a decent funeral when the
time came, if there was any money with which to
buy a coffin.

"For no one can say what may happen," she
said, drying her eyes, which always overflowed so
easily. "We are in debt to that wicked Sintram,
and he can sell us up any day. True, Ferdinand is
now engaged to Anna Stjarnhok, and she is rich,
but she will very soon tire of him. And then what
is to become of us and our three cows and nine
horses, our light-hearted girls who only think of
going from one ball to another, our fields where
nothing grows, our kind, good-natured Ferdinand
who never will be quite a man? What will become

76 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

of this whole blessed house, where everything ex-
cept work thrives so contentedly ? '

But the dinner-hour came, and the family assem-
bled. Ferdinand, the quiet son of the house, and his
sisters arrived with the borrowed horse-radish. The
Captain, coming home from his shooting, had taken
a dip in the ice-covered river, and came in hearty
and strong, wrung Gosta's hand, and threw up the
windows to let in the fresh air. Fru Uggla appeared,
dressed in silk, with wide lace falling over the white
hands which Gosta was allowed to kiss.

They all welcomed him gladly, jokes passed
from one to the other, and they laughingly teased
him.

"Well, how are you all at Ekeby — how do you
like the promised land?*

"It flows with milk and honey," he answered.
" We empty the mountains of their iron, and fill our
cellars with wine. The fields bear gold with which
we gild life's misery, and we fell our forests to build
pavilions and skittle-alleys."

But Fru Uggla sighed and smiled, and one word
escaped her lips — "Poet."

"There are many sins on my conscience," an-
swered Gosta, " but I Ve never written a line of
poetry."

"But still you are a poet, Gosta — you can't rid
yourself of that name. You have lived through more
poems than our poets have ever written."

GOSTA BERLING — POET 77

And later, the Captain's wife spoke to him, mildly
as a mother, about his wilfully wasted life. " May I
live to see you become a man," she said; and Gosta
felt the sweetness of being reproached by this gentle
woman, who was his faithful friend, whose romantic
heart was fired by the love of great deeds.

But when the merry meal was over, the cabbages
and fritters, the horse-radish and Christmas ale en-
joyed, and Gosta had made them laugh and cry with
his tales of the Major and his wife and the Broby
parson, sleigh-bells were heard in the yard, and a
moment later Sintram entered the room.

He shone with satisfaction from the top of his
bald head down to his long, flat feet. He swung his
arms, and made such grimaces, it was evident he
brought bad news.

" Have you heard," he cried, — " have you heard
that the banns were called to-day at Svartsjo Church
for Anna Stjarnhok and rich old Dahlberg? She
must have forgotten that she was engaged to Fer-
dinand!"

No, they had not heard ; they were all astonished
and grieved. They already saw their home ravaged
to pay the debt due to their cruel neighbor, their
dearly loved horses sold, even the poor furniture
which had come to them from their mother's old
home. Their life of festivity and balls was over now
— they must eat bear-meat again, and the young
people must seek work among strangers.

78 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Fru Uggla caressed Ferdinand, and let him feel
the comfort of a never-failing love.

And the unconquerable Gosta Berling sat there
among them with a thousand schemes surging in his
brain.

"Listen," he cried; "this isn't the time for
mourning. It is the parson's wife down at Svartsjo
who has arranged it all. She has great influence over
Anna since she has been living with her at the par-
sonage. It is she who has persuaded her to give up
Ferdinand and take old Dahlberg; but they are not
married yet, nor ever shall be. I am going to Borg;
I will meet Anna there and talk to her. I will carry
her away from the parsonage and old Dahlberg.
I will bring her here to-night, and then he will not
see much more of her."

So it was decided. Gosta drove alone to Borg,
instead of taking one of the girls with him, but the
best wishes of all followed him on his way. Sintram,
rejoicing that old Dahlberg was to be outwitted,
determined to remain where he was and see Gosta
return with the faithless beauty. In a sudden out-
burst of kindness he even wrapped about Gosta
his green travelling-rug — a present given him by
Mamsell Ulrika.

But Fru Uggla came out on the steps with three
small red bound books in her hand. "Take them,"
she said to Gosta, who was already seated in his
sledge. "Take and keep them in case you fail. It is

GOSTA BERLING— POET 79

Corinne, Madame de StaeTs Corinne. I don't wish
it to be sold at auction."

"I won't fail."

"Oh, Gosta, Gosta!' she said, and passed her
hand over his uncovered head. "You strongest and
weakest of men ! For how long will you remember
that the happiness of these poor people lies in your
hands?"

Drawn by black Don Juan and followed by Tan-
kred, Gosta again flew along the highway, the spirit
of adventure flooding his soul. He felt himself
a conqueror, borne forward by enthusiasm. The
road took him past the parsonage at Svartsjo. He
drove through the gate and asked if he might drive
Anna Stjarnhok to the ball, and she consented.
It was a lovely, self-willed girl who took her seat
beside him. Who would not gladly ride behind Don
Juan?

The young people were silent at first; then Anna
opened the conversation — defiantly, as usual. "I
suppose you heard what the pastor gave out in
church to-day?'

" Did he say you were the loveliest girl between
Lofven and Klaralfven?'

"How stupid you are! People knew that with-
out his telling them. He published the banns for
me and old Dahlberg."

"It is hardly likely I should have asked you to
drive with me if I had known.'

80 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

And Anna carelessly answered, "I daresay I
could have done without you, Gosta Berling."

" But it is a great pity, Anna/' Gosta said, thought-
fully," that your parents are not living. Now you do
what you like, and no one can depend on you."

"It is a greater pity you did not say so before;
some one else could have driven me to the ball."

"The parson's wife must be of my opinion, that
you require some one to take your father's place,
or she would not have paired you off with an old
creature like Dahlberg."

"The parson's wife had nothing to do with it."

"Dear me! was he really your own choice?'

"He is not marrying me for my money."

" No, of course not; it is only blue eyes and rosy
cheeks that old men run after, and it becomes them
finely."

"Gosta, are n't you ashamed of yourself ?"

"Well, you must remember now that you have
nothing further to do with young men. There will
be an end now to your dancing and amusements.
Your place will be on the sofa-corner, or perhaps
you mean to play cribbage with your old man?"

They were silent after this, till they began the
steep ascent to Borg Hall.

"Thanks for your trouble! It will be some time
before I sleigh again with Gosta Berling," said
Anna.

"Thanks for that promise! There are many, I

GOSTA BERLING— POET 81

know, who have repented the day they ever went
sleighing with you."

It was in no mild frame of mind that the defiant
beauty entered the ball-room and glanced over the
assembled guests. The first she saw was Dahlberg,
small and bald, standing by the side of the tall,
slight, fair-haired Gosta. She felt she could have
turned them both out of the room.

Dahlberg came and invited her to dance — to be
met with cutting astonishment.

"Are you going to dance? You don't usually
do so!"

Her girl friends came forward to congratulate
her.

"Don't pretend, girls; you know very well no
one could fall in love with old Dahlberg. We are
both rich, and it is therefore a suitable match."

The matrons pressed her hand and spoke of life's
greatest happiness.

"Congratulate the pastor's wife," she said. "She
is more delighted about it than I am."

There stood Gosta Berling, the gay cavalier, wel-
comed by all for his bright smile and his ready
speech, which strewed gold-dust over life's grey way.
It seemed to her that she had never really seen him
before. He was no outcast, no homeless jester — he
was a king among men, a born king.

Gosta and the other young men made a compact
against her; she must be taught the wrong she did

82 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

in giving herself, with lovely face and great wealth,
to an old man. And they let her sit out ten dances.

She was furious.

At the eleventh dance a man of the most insig-
nificant appearance, one with whom no one else
cared to dance, approached her and invited her to
waltz.

"As the bread is finished, the crusts must be
brought on the table," she said.

Then they played forfeits. Fair-haired girls put
their heads together and sentenced her to kiss the
one she loved the best, waiting, with covert smiles,
to see the proud beauty kiss old Dahlberg.

But she rose, stately in her anger, and said, " Shall
I not rather box the ears of him I love the least? '

And the next moment Gosta's cheek burned from
the stroke of her firm hand.

He flushed red, controlling himself, caught her
hand, and holding it fast a moment, whispered,
" Meet me in the red drawing-room downstairs in
.half an hour/5

His blue eyes held her in magic fetters; she felt
she must obey.

She met him there, proud and angry.

"What concern is it of yours, Gosta Berling,
whom I marry?'

He could not speak kindly to her yet, nor did he
think it good policy to mention Ferdinand at once.

"To sit out ten dances seems to me a light pen-

GOSTA BERLING— POET 83

ance, but you want to break your promise without
being censured? If a better man than I had passed
sentence, it would have been severer."

"What have I done to you all that you cannot
leave me in peace? It is because I have money that
you persecute me so. I will throw it into the Lofven,
and who likes can fish it up."

She hid her eyes in her hands and cried with vex-
ation.

This touched him ; he felt ashamed of his sever-
ity, and his voice grew caressing as he continued:

"Oh, child, forgive me, forgive poor Gosta Ber-
ling! You know very well that no one minds what
I say or do! Who cares for such a wretch as I am?
Who cares for my anger? You might as well cry
over a gnat-bite! I was mad, but I wished to hinder
our most beautiful and richest girl from marrying
an old man. And now I have only hurt you."

He sat down on the sofa beside her, and put his
arms round her, trying to support and raise her.

She did not draw back; she turned to him, and
throwing her arms round his neck, wept, with her
lovely head on his shoulder.

Ah, poet — strongest and weakest of men — it
was not about your neck those arms should rest.

" If I had known this," she whispered, " I would
never have consented to marry old Dahlberg. I have
seen you for the first time to-day, and there is none
like you."

84 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Through white lips Gosta whispered, "Ferdi-
nand."

She silenced him with a kiss.

"He is nothing — no one exists but you. I shall
be faithful to you alone."

"I am Gosta Berling," he answered, gloomily;
"you cannot marry me."

"It is you I love — you, the noblest of men. You
need do nothing, be nothing, you are born a king."

The poet's blood in him surged. She was so en-
chanting in her love, he clasped her in his arms.

"If you will be mine, Anna, you cannot stay at
the parsonage. Let me carry you away to-night to
Ekeby, and I will guard you there till we can be
married."

«••*•««•«

It was a wild drive through the night. Prompted
by the voice of their love they let Don Juan carry
them away. The creaking of the sledge runners
might have been the cries of their deceived friends,
what cared they? She clung to him, and he bent
down and whispered in her ear, "Can any bliss be
likened to stolen happiness?'

Who thought of the banns — they had love —
and of the anger of their friends? Gosta Berling
believed in fate. Fate had mastered them — no one
could fight against fate.

If the stars had been the wax candles lighted for

GOSTA BERLING — POET 85

her wedding, if the sleigh-bells had been the church
chimes calling the neighbors to witness her union
with old Dahlberg, still she must have eloped with
Gosta Berling, so powerful is fate.

They had passed the parsonage and Munkerud.
They had about two miles before them to Berga,
and then two again to Ekeby. The road followed
the edge of the wood, and to the right of them lay
dark mountains, to the left a long white valley.

Suddenly Tankred rushed after the sledge wildly.
He seemed to lie at full stretch upon the ground,
he passed over it so quickly, and shuddering with
fear he leaped into the sledge and crouched at Anna's
feet.

Don Juan started and broke into a gallop.

"Wolves," said Gosta.

They saw a long grey line following them near
the fence. There were at least a dozen wolves.

Anna was not afraid. The day had been full of
adventure, the night promised to be the same. That
was life — to speed over the sparkling snow, defiant
of men and beasts.

Gosta swore, bent forward, and brought the whip
heavily over Don Juan.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"They are taking a short cut to that corner and
will meet us where the road turns."

Don Juan was putting forth all his speed in the
race with the wild beasts, and Tankred howled in

86 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

mingled fear and rage. They reached the turning at
the same time as the wolves, and Gosta drove off
the foremost with his whip.

" Ah, Don Juan, my boy, how easily you would
outstrip your pursuers if you had not to carry us
with you!'

They fastened the green travelling-rug behind
the sledge. The wolves were frightened, and kept
at a distance for a short time, but they soon con-
quered their fear, and one of them sprang with pant-
ing open jaws at the sledge, and Gosta flung Ma-
dame de StaeTs Corinne down its throat.

Again they had a moment's respite while this
booty was devoured, but soon the wolves began to
tear at the rug, their quick breathing was heard be-
hind. They knew there was no shelter to be hoped
for before they reached Berga, but worse than
death itself was the thought to Gosta of seeing the
people he had betrayed. He knew also that Don
Juan could not hold out much longer, and what
was to become of them?

Now they saw the Berga farmstead in the forest
clearing. Lights streamed from the windows. Gosta
knew too well for whose sake.

Just then the wolves fled, fearing the neighbor-
hood of man, and Gosta drove past Berga; but he
did not get far, for, where the road turned into the
forest again, he saw a dark group fronting him —
the wolves awaited them.

tc

GOSTA BERLING — POET 87

We must return to the parsonage, and say we
went for a sleigh ride in the starlight. This won't
do."

They turned, but the next moment the sledge
was surrounded by the savage beasts. Grey bodies
pressed near, white teeth gleamed, glaring eyes
flashed; they howled with hunger and the thirst of
blood. Their white teeth were ready to tear into
soft human flesh. They sprang upon Don Juan,
and hung to the harness. Anna sat and wondered
if they would be eaten up entirely, or if people
would find their torn limbs in the bloody trampled
snow next morning.

"It is a case of life and death now," she said,
bending down and grasping Tankred by his collar.

"Let him be, it would not help us. It isn't for
his sake the wolves are abroad to-night."

And Gosta drove into the yard at Berga, the
wolves following them to the very steps, so that he
was obliged to beat them off with the whip.

"Anna," he said, as they reached the door, "it is
not God's will. Keep a good countenance now, if
you are the woman I think you."

The sleigh-bells had been heard indoors, and all
the household came to meet them.

"He has brought her!' they cried, "he has
brought her! Long live Gosta Berling!'

And they passed from one embrace to another.
Many questions were not asked. It was late; their

GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

perilous drive had unnerved them, and they needed
rest. It was sufficient for them all that Anna had
come. All was well, only Corinne and the green trav-
elling-rug, Mamsell Ulrika's prized gift, had been
lost in the struggle.

The whole house lay in sleep when Gosta Berling
rose and crept downstairs. Unobserved by any one,
he took Don Juan out of the stable, yoked him to
his sledge, and was on the point of driving away
when Anna Stjarnhok came out of the house.

" I heard you go out," she said, " so I got up also.
I am ready to go with you."

He went up to her and took her hand.

"Don't you understand yet, Anna? It cannot
be. It is not God's will. I was here to-day to dinner
and heard their trouble about your faithlessness,
and I drove to Borg to bring you back to Ferdi-
nand. But I never have been anything but a good-
for-nothing, and never will be anything else. I de-
ceived him and took you for myself. My old friend
here believed me to be a true man, and I have de-
ceived her. And another poor creature suffers cold
and hunger cheerfully to die among friends, and
I was ready to let Sintram turn her out. You were
so beautiful, and sin is so pleasant, and Gosta Ber-
ling is so easily tempted! Ah, what a wretch I am!
I know how they love their home, and I was about

GOSTA BERLING — POET 89

to let it be ruined! I forgot all for your sake, you
were so lovely. But now, Anna, since I have seen
their joy 1 cannot keep you — no, I will not. Oh,
my beloved ! He above us plays with our wills. The
time has come for us to bow under His chastening
hand. Promise me that from this hour you will take
your burden upon you. All in this house depend
on you. Promise me that you will be their help and
stay! If you love me, if you will lighten my heavy
grief, promise me this! My dearest, is your heart
so great that it can conquer itself and yet smile?'

And she received with ecstasy the call to sacri-
fice.

"I will do as you will — I will sacrifice myself
cheerfully."

"And you will not hate my poor friends?'

She smiled sadly.

"As long as I love you, I shall love them."

" Now I know what a woman you are. Oh ! it is
hard to leave you."

"Farewell, Gosta; God be with you. My love
shall not tempt you to sin."

She turned to go in; he followed her.

"Will you soon forget me, Anna?'

" Go now, Gosta, we are but human ! '

He threw himself into the sledge, then she came
again to him.

Have you forgotten the wolves?'

I am thinking of them, but they have done their

(C
(C

90 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

work. They have nothing further to do with me
to-night."

Again he stretched out his arms to her, but Don
Juan grew impatient and started. He let the reins
hang, turning to look back, then leaned against the
back of the sledge and wept like a man in despair.

"I had my happiness in my hand, and I have
thrown it aside! I have cast it away myself! Why
did I not keep it?"

Ah, Gosta Berling, thou strongest and weakest
of men!

"The fachucha

WAR horse, war horse, old steed now tethered
in the field, do you remember your youth?

Do you remember the day of the battle, when
you charged as if borne on wings, your mane flar-
ing above you like flickering flames, your black
chest glistening with frothy foam and splashes of
blood? In harness of gold you bounded forward,
the earth rumbling beneath you ; and you trembled
with joy , brave old steed. Ah, but you were splendid !

It is the hour of twilight in the cavaliers' wing.
In the big room the cavaliers' chests stand against
the wall, and their holiday clothes hang on hooks in
a corner. The firelight from the hearth plays on the
whitewashed walls and the checkered yellow cur-
tains that hide the cubby-beds. The cavaliers' wing
is n'o royal antechamber, no seraglio with cushioned
divans and soft pillows.

Up there Lilliecrona's violin is heard. He, Lillie-
crona, is playing the cachucha in the dusk of the
evening; and he plays it over and over again.

Cut the strings ! Break the bow ! Why does he
play that accursed dance,? Why does he play it when
Ensign Orneclou lies sick with the pains of gout,
so severe that he cannot move in his bed! Snatch
the fiddle from him and dash it against the wall, if
he will not stop.

92 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Master, is it for us you play the cachucha ? Shall
it be danced on the shaky floor of the cavaliers' wing,
between narrow walls, blackened with smoke and
grimy with dirt, under this low ceiling?

The cachucha, is it for us — for us cavaliers?
Without howls the snowstorm. Would you teach the
snowflakes to dance to the measure? Are you play-
ing for the light-footed children of the storm?

Tremulous feminine forms, with hot blood throb-
bing in their veins, small sooty hands that have
thrown aside the pot to take up the castanets, bare
feet under tucked-up skirts, crouching gypsies with
bagpipe and tambourine, Moorish arcades, marble-
paved courts, moonlight and dark eyes — have you
these, master? Else let the violin rest.

The cavaliers must dry their wet clothes by the
fire. Shall they whirl about in top-boots, with spiked
heels and soles an inch thick? All day they have
plowed through knee-deep snow to reach the bear's
lair. Think you they will dance in wet, reeking
woollen clothes, with shaggy bruin for partner?

An evening sky glittering with stars, dark hair
adorned with red roses, an atmosphere vibrant with
blissful longing, untutored grace of movement, love
rising from the earth, raining from the heavens,
floating in the air — can you conjure these, master?
Else, why make us yearn for such things?

Most cruel of men, would you sound the battle
call to a tethered war horse ! Rutger von Orneclou

THE CACHUCHA 93

is fettered to his bed with gout. Spare him the pain
of tender memories !

He, too, has worn the sombrero and the hair-net
of many colors; he, too, has worn the velvet jacket
and carried a stiletto in his girdle. Spare old Or-
neclou, master.

But Lilliecronagoes on playing thecachucha,and
Orneclou suffers like the lover who sees the swal-
low winging toward the distant abode of the beloved,
like the hart driven by the hounds past the cooling
spring.

For a moment Lilliecrona raises his chin from
the violin.

"Ensign, do you remember Rosalie von Ber-
ger?' he asks.

Orneclou swears a great oath.

" She was light as a candle-flame, and danced and
sparkled like the diamond at the tip of the fiddle-
bow. You must remember her at the theatre in Karl-
stad. We saw her when we were young, if you recall."

The ensign remembered. She was petite and be-
witching— all fire. Ah, she could dance the cachu-
cha! And she taught all the young men in Karl-
stad to dance it and to play the castanets. At the
Governor's ball the ensign and Froken von Berger
danced a pas de deux in Spanish costume. And he
had danced as one dances under fig-trees and mag-
nolias, like the Spaniard — the real Spaniard. No
one in all Varmland could dance the cachucha as

94 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

he danced it. What a cavalier was lost to Varm-
land when the gout stiffened his legs and great
lumps formed on his joints! And what a gallant
figure he had once been, so lithe, so handsome, so
courtly! "Handsome Orneclou' he was called by
the young girls, who were ready to start a deadly
feud over a dance with him.

Lilliecrona again begins the cachucha, and Orne-
clou is carried back to other times. . . . Here he
stands, there she — Rosalie von Berger! He is a
Spanish lover, she a Spanish maiden. But a mo-
ment ago they were alone in the dressing-room.
He was allowed to kiss her, but lightly, lest his
blackened moustaches print a telltale mark on her
cheek.

Now they dance! As one dances under fig-trees
and plane-trees, so they dance. She draws away, he
follows ; he grows bold, she haughty ; he is hurt, she
solicitous. When at the end he falls on his knee and
receives her in his outstretched arms, a sigh sweeps
through the ball-room, a sigh of rapture. He was the
Spaniard to the life. At just that stroke of the bow
he had bent so, had put out his arms so, and poised
his foot so, to glide forward on his toes. Such grace !
What a model for a sculptor!

He does not know how it happened, but some-
how he had got his foot over the edge of the bed and
was standing up. Now he bends, raises his arms,
snaps his fingers, and tries to glide across the floor

THE CACHUCHA 95

as in the days gone by, when he wore patent leather
shoes, so tight-fitting that the feet of his stockings
had to be cut away.

Bravo, Orneclou ! Bravo, Lilliecrona, play life
into him!

But his foot fails him, he cannot rise on his toes.
He kicks out once or twice — more he cannot do —
and falls back on the bed.

Handsome Senor, you have grown old. Perhaps
the Seiiorita, too, is old?

It is only under the plane-trees of Granada that
the cachucha is danced by ever young gi tanas —
ever young because, as with the roses, each year
brings new ones.

So now the time has come to cut the violin
strings. . . . No, no ! play on, Lilliecrona, play the
cachucha, always the cachucha! Teach us that al-
though our bodies have grown heavy and our joints
stiff, in our feelings we are ever the same — ever
Spaniards.

War horse, war horse, say that you love the trum-
pet-blast, which tempts you into a gallop, even
though you strain at your steel-linked tether till
your foot bleeds.

The 'Ball at Skeby

OH, women of the olden days ! To talk of you
is to talk of Paradise; for you were perfect
beauty, perfect light — ever youthful, ever charm-
ing, and as mild as the eyes of a mother when she
gazes at her child. Soft as a little squirrel, you clung
about man's neck, and your voice never shook with
anger, your brow was never ruffled, your soft hand
never grew harsh and hard. Like lovely saints, like
bejewelled pictures, you stood in the temple of
your homes. Incense and prayers were offered you,
love worked its miracles by your power, and round
your heads poetry cast its aureola.

Oh, women of the olden days! This is the story
of how one of you gave her love to Gosta Berling.

Scarcely had Anna Stjarnhok's kisses died on
his lips, scarcely had he forgotten the pressure of her
arms around his neck, but sweeter lips and whiter
arms were stretched toward him. He could do noth-
ing but receive the loveliest of gifts, for the heart
is incorrigible in its habit of loving. For every sor-
row caused by love, it knows no other cure than a
newer love, as those who have burned themselves
with hot iron deaden the pain by burning themselves
once more. .

A fortnight after the ball at Borg a great festival
was given at Ekeby.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 97

It was a splendid fete, but ask not why or where-
fore it was given. For the only reason for which a
fete is worth giving — that eyes might shine, and
hearts and feet might dance, and joy might again
find a place among mankind ; that handsmight meet,
and lips might kiss.

But speak not of kisses !

And what a fete it was ! Old men and women be-
came young again and laughed and rejoiced when
they spoke of it. But then the cavaliers were sole
managers at Ekeby.

Fru Samzelius wandered through the country
with her beggar's scrip and staff, and the Major was
atSjo. He could not be present at the ball, for small-
pox had broken out at Sjo, and he was afraid of
carrying infection.

What a number of enjoyments were crowded
into those twelve hours, from the first popping of
the corks of the first bottles of wine at the dinner to
the last strain of the violins when midnight was long
passed ! They sank back into eternity, those mirth-
crowned hours, frenzied with the fiery wine, the
choicest food, the loveliest music, the cleverest act-
ing, and the most beautiful tableaux. They sank
back, giddy with the wild dancing. Where was there
so smooth a floor, such courtly cavaliers, such lovely
women?

Oh, women of the olden days ! You knew well
how to brighten the feasts. Streams of fire, of genius,

98 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

and of youthful ardor touch all who approach you,
It was worth while to spend one's gold on the can-
dles that lighted up your beauty, upon the wine
that awoke the gaiety in your hearts. It was worth
while to dance one's shoes to dust, and to wield the
violin bow till the arm dropped with weariness.

Oh, women of the olden days ! You held the keys
of Paradise; the halls of Ekeby were thronged by
the loveliest of your train.

There was the young Countess Dohna, excit-
edly eager for dancing and all games, as was natural
for her twenty years ; there were the lovely daugh-
ters of the Judge of Munkerud and the girls from
Berga; there was Anna Stjarnhok, a thousand times
more beautiful than before, in the quiet melancholy
which had come over her since the night she had
been chased by wolves ; there were many who are
not forgotten yet, but who soon will be; and there,
too, was the beautiful Marienne Sinclaire.

Even she, the loveliest vof the lovely, a queen
among people, the goddess-like, the fascinating
Marienne Sinclaire, deigned to come. She, the far-
famed beauty, who had shone at court and at many
a ducal castle, the queen of beauty, who received
the homage of the whole country — she, who ignited
the fires of love wherever she showed herself — she
had deigned to appear at the ball given by the cav-
aliers.

The honor of Varmland beamed afar in those

THE BALL AT EKEBY 99

days, borne up by many a haughty name. There
was much which its joyous children prided them-
selves upon. But ever when they talked of their
many splendors, they spoke of Marienne Sinclaire.

The story of her conquests filled the land. They
told you of many earls whose coronets might have
graced her head, of the many millions which had
been laid at her feet, of the brave swords and the
poet's wreaths which had allured her.

And she possessed more than mere beauty. She
was talented and learned. The best men of the time
were happy to converse with her. She did not write,
but many of her thoughts given to the souls of her
friends have lived again in song.

To Varmland — to the bear-land — she came but
seldom. Her time was spent in constant visits. Her
father, the rich Melchior Sinclaire, lived with his
wife at Bjorne,and allowed Marienne to travel about
to her grand friends in the towns or to the great
estates. He took pleasure in relating how much
money she spent, and both the old people lived
happily in the reflected glory of Marienne's splen-
dor.

Her life was one of pleasure and adoration. The
air about her was love. Love was her light and her
life, and love her daily bread. She had been in love
herself often — oh, so often! — but never had this
love lasted for a sufficiently long time that out of it
might be forged the chains that should bind for life.

ioo GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"I am waiting for him — the grand conqueror,"
she used to say in speaking of love. "He has stormed
no walls and surmounted no graves as yet. He has
come tamely to me, having neither wildness in his
eyes nor daring in his heart. I am waiting for the
mighty one who will carry me out of myself. I want
to feel the love so strong within me that I tremble
before it. I only know the kind of love at which my
intellect smiles."

She had the low voice and the refinement of a
woman of high rank. They all bowed down to her
in her country home, and felt their insignificance
and ignorance of the ways of the fine world, but
if she spoke, if she only smiled — all was well. She
was a queen, and created a court and courtly man-
ners wherever she went.

Her presence gave inspiration to thespeeches and
life to the wine. She gave speed to the violin bows,
and the dancing went gayer than ever over the boards
that she touched with her slender feet. She shone
in the tableaux and in the acting.

Oh, no, it was not her fault — it was never her
fault.

It was the balcony, the moonlight, the lace veil,
and the cavalier dress that were to blame. The poor
young people were innocent..

All that how follows, which led to so much un-
happiness, was done with the best intention. Squire
Julius, who could manage anything, had arranged

THE BALL AT EKEBY 101

a tableau chiefly that Marienne should be seen in
great splendor.

Before a stage erected in the big salon at Ekeby
sat a hundred guests, and watched a golden Span-
ish moon rise in a dark midnight sky. Then a Don
Juan stole through the Seville street till he paused
beneath a myrtle-covered balcony. He was dis-
guised as a monk, but a white embroidered ruffle
showed at his sleeve, and the gleaming point of a
rapier protruded from his cloak.

He raised his voice and sang:

"7 kiss no maiden dear,
Nor press my lips to a flagon's rim
To taste the purling wine.

A cheek so clear

Set on fire by my glance,

Sweet eyes, seeking mine

As if by chance —
Such worldly pleasures are not for me.

u Come not in your beauty's might,
Senora, to the lattice here,
I tremble at your sight.

I wear the cowl

And the rosary long,

To the Madonna still

Does my heart belong;
In the water cruse I must drown my song."

102 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

When his voice died away, Marienne came out
upon the balcony dressed in black velvet and a lace
veil. She leaned over the rail and sang slowly and
ironically:

" Why do you stand, you holy man,
At midnight time, 'math my lattice high,
Say, do you pray for my soul?*

Then quickly, and with feeling:

u Nay ,fly , — / pray ;
They may find you here.
And your sword doth betray,
And the clank of your spur,
That the hooded monk is a fair cavalier"

At these words the monk threw aside his disguise,
and Gosta Berling stood under the balcony in a
Don's dress of silk and gold. He paid no heed to the
beauty's warning. On the contrary, he climbed one
of the balcony pillars, swung himself over the bal-
ustrade, and, as Squire Julius had arranged, fell at
the feet of the lovely Marienne.

She smiled graciously upon him and gave him
her hand to kiss, and as they gazed at each other,
lost in love, the curtain descended.

No one at Ekeby had ever seen anything love-
lier than those two on that moonlit balcony. The
curtain had to be drawn up again and again. It was

THE BALL AT EKEBY 103

like a thunder-cloud, out of which heaven's splen-
dor gleamed, and every glance was followed by a
deafening thunder of applause.

She was lovely, so wonderfully lovely, that Ma-
rien.ne. She had fair hair, and dark blue eyes under
her dark eyebrows. The curve of her nose was in-
comparable in its audacity and refinement; her
mouth and cheeks and chin were perfectly formed.
Beside hers, all other faces looked coarse, and near
her transparent complexion all others seemed dark
and ugly. There was charm, too, in every glance,
in every word, in every movement of the stately
figure.

And before her knelt Gosta Berling, with a face
as spiritual as a poet's and as daring as a conquer-
or's, with eyes that glittered with genius and hu-
mor, eyes that pleaded and insisted. He was strong
and supple, fiery and fascinating.

While the curtain rose and fell, the young people
stood motionless in the same attitude. Gosta's eyes
held Marienne; they pleaded and insisted.

At last the applause died away, the curtain de-
scended, and none saw them.

And then Marienne bent and kissed Gosta Ber-
ling. She did not know why she did it — she felt she
must. He stretched his arms about her head and
held her fast, and she kissed him again and again.

But it was the balcony and the moonlight. It
was the veil and the cavalier dress, the song and

104 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

the applause, that were to blame; the poor young
people were not in fault. They had not intended it.
She had not refused the hands of earls and rejected
millions for love of Gosta Berling, neither had he
forgotten Anna Stjarnhok. No, they were noj: to
blame, they had not meant to do it.

It was the gentle Lovenborg, he with the tears in
his eyes and a smile on his lips, who acted as cur-
tain-puller that evening. Troubled by the memo-
ries of many sorrows, he paid little attention to
the things of this world, and had never learned
to manage them properly. Now, when he saw that
Gosta and Marienne had taken up a new position,
he thought it was part of the tableau, and he pulled
up the curtain.

They on the balcony noticed nothing till the
thunder of applause again deafened them.

Marienne started and tried to escape, but Gosta
held her firmly, whispering," Stand still, they think
it part of the tableau."

He felt how her body trembled, and the glow of
her kisses died on her lips. They were obliged to
stand like this while the curtain again rose and fell,
and every time a hundred pairs of eyes saw them,
a hundred pairs of hands gave forth a storm of ap-
plause, for it was a lovely sight to see two so beau-
tiful give a representation of love's happiness. No
one thought those kisses meant anything but a the-
atrical pretence; no one guessed that the Senora

THE BALL AT EKEBY 105

shook with shame and the Don with anxiety. No
one but believed it to be a part of the tableau.

At last Marienne and Gosta stood behind the
scenes. She passed her hand over her forehead. " I
don't understand myself," she said.

" For shame, Froken Marienne/' he said, with a
grimace and a comic gesture of his arms, "to kiss
Gosta Berling! for shame!'

She was obliged to laugh.

"One and all know Gosta Berling to be irresist-
ible. My fault is no greater than that of others/'

And they agreed to keep a good countenance, so
that none should guess the truth.

" Can I be certain that the truth will never come
out, Herr Gosta?" she asked, as they were about
to join the other guests.

"You can, Froken Marienne; the cavaliers will
be silent, I can answer for them."

She dropped her eyes, and a peculiar smile curled
her lips.

"And if the truth came out, what would people
think of me, Herr Berling?'

"They would think nothing of it. They would
know it meant nothing. They would think we were
in our parts and continued to act."

Yet another question came creeping from the-
hidden eyes and the forced smile.

"But you, Herr Gosta? What do you think of
it?"

106 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"I think you are in love with me," he said, jest-
ingly.

" Don't believe any thing of the kind," she smiled,
" or I shall be obliged to thrust this dagger into you
to prove that you are wrong."

"Women's kisses are dear," said Gosta. "Does
it cost a life to be kissed by Marienne Sinclaire?'

A glance flashed from her eyes, so sharp that he
felt it like a blow.

"I would rather see you dead, Gosta Berling —
dead— dead!"

These words awoke the old longing in the heart
of the poet.

"Ah," he said, "if your words were more than
words, if they were bullets out of a dark thicket,
if they were daggers or poison, and had the power
to destroy this wretched body and give my soul its
freedom ! '

But she was again calm and smiling. " Childish-
ness !" she said, and took his arm to rejoin the
guests.

They retained their costumes, and their triumph
was renewed when they showed themselves. All
praised them, no one suspected anything.

The ball began again, but Gosta shunned the
dancing-room. His heart was smarting from Mari-
enne's glance as if it had touched it like sharp steel.
He understood too well the meaning of her words.
It was a shame to love him, a shame to be loved by

THE BALL AT EKEBY 107

him — a shame greater than death. He would never
dance again; he never wanted to see them again,
those beautiful women. He knew it well — those
lovely eyes, those rosy cheeks, burned not for him.
Not for him was the fall of those light feet nor the
chime of that low laughter. Yes, dance with him,
flirt with him — that they would do, but none of
them would seriously have chosen to give him her
love.

The poet went away to the smoking-room, to
the old gentlemen, and took his place at one of the
card-tables. He happened to sit down near the mas-
ter of Bjorne, who was playing "Knack," with an
occasional turn at " Polish Bank," and had gathered
a whole pile of sixpences and farthings before him.
The stakes were already high, and Gosta drove
them higher. The green bank notes came out, and
the heaps of money increased before Melchior Sin-
claire. But before Gosta, too, a pile of silver and
paper gathered, and soon he was the only one who
could hold out against the great land proprietor of
Bjorne. Soon even Melchior Sinclaire's pile retreated
over to Gosta.

"Gosta, my boy," said his opponent, laughing,
when he had lost all he had in his purse and pocket-
book, "what are we to do now? I am cleaned out,
and I never play with borrowed money. I promised
my mother I never would."

But he found a way — he gambled away his watch

io8 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

and chain and his beaver cloak, and was on the point
of staking his horse and sledge when Sintram inter-
rupted him.

" Put up something to change the luck," was the
advice of the wicked owner of Fors; "put up some-
thing to win."

"The devil knows where I am to find it!'

" Stake your heart's dearest treasure, brother Mel-
chior — stake your daughter."

" You can do that without fear," said Gosta, laugh-
ing; "that stake I shall never take home."

The great Melchior Sinclaire could do nothing
else than laugh also. He did not approve of Mari-
enne's name being mentioned at the gaming-table,
but the idea was so absurdly improbable he could
not be angry. Stake and lose Marienne to Gosta?
Yes, he could dare that.

"That is to say," he explained, "that if you can
get her consent, I will set my blessing on the mar-
riage on this card."

Gosta staked all his gains, and the game began.
He won, and the proprietor of Bjorne gave up play-
ing. He could not fight against Fortune, he saw.

Well, Gosta Berling, does not your heart beat at
this? Don't you understand your fate? What was
the meaning of Marienne's kisses and her anger?
Don't you understand a woman's heart? And now
this stake won too! Don't you see that fate wills
what love wills? Up, Gosta Berling!

THE BALL AT EKEBY 109

No, Gosta Berling is not in the mood for love-
making to-night. He is angry over the hardness of
hearts. Why should love only be healed by love?
He knows too well the end of these pretty ditties.
No one is constant to him; there is love for him,
but no wife. It is no use trying.

The night goes on, midnight has passed. The la-
dies' cheeks begin to pale, their curls to straighten,
their flounces to look creased. The matrons rise
from the sofa-corners and remark that, as the fete
has continued for twelve hours, it is time to go
home.

And that would have been the end of the great
ball, if Lilliecrona had not taken up his violin and
played a last polka. The horses stood at the door,
the old ladies were putting on their furs and quilted
hoods, and the old gentlemen buttoned up their
greatcoats and tied on their belts, but the young
people could not tear themselves away from the
dancing. They danced in their cloaks; they danced
ring polka, swing polka, and every kind of polka;
it was all one mad whirl. As soon as a man gave
up his partner, another sprang forward and claimed
her.

Even melancholy Gosta was drawn into the vor-
tex. He meant to dance away his sadness and sense
of degradation, he wanted to feel the wild joy of
life in his veins again — he meant to be gay, he,
as well as the others — and he danced so that the

no GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

walls seemed to spin round, and his thoughts grew
giddy.

Ah, who is the lady he has snatched from the
crowd ?

She is light and graceful, and he feels streams of
fire flow between them. Oh, Marienne!

While Gosta danced with Marienne, Sintram was
sitting already in his sledge in the courtyard^ and
near him stood Melchior Sinclaire.

The great land proprietor was impatient at hav-
ing to wait for Marienne. He stamped on the snow
with his big boots, and swung his arms, for it was
bitterly cold.

" Perhaps, after all, you should not have gambled
Marienne away to Gosta/' said Sintram.

"Why not?"

Sintram put his reins in order and lifted his whip
before he answered: "All that kissing did hot be-
long to the tableau ! '

Melchior Sinclaire raised his arm to strike, but
Sintram was gone. He started his horse at racing
speed, not daring to look back, for Melchior Sin-
claire had a heavy hand and but short patience.

The master of Bjorne went back to the dancing-
hall and saw Marienne and Gosta dancing together.
The last polka was wildly, crazily danced. Some of
the couples were pale, some blooming red, the dust
hung like smoke over the room. The waxen lights
burned low in the candlesticks, and amid all this

THE BALL AT EKEBY in

ghost-like decay, Gosta and Marienne flew on and
on, royal in their unwearied strength, with no blem-
ish marring their beauty, happy in being able to
indulge in the entrancing movement.

Melchior Sinclaire watched them for a time, then
he went away and left Marienne to dance. He
slammed the door after him, stamped down the
steps, and without further ado seated himself in
the sledge, where his wife already waited, and drove
home.

When Marienne finished dancing and asked for
her parents, they were gone.

When she was certain of this, she allowed no one
to see her surprise. She dressed quietly, and went
down into the courtyard, and the ladies in the dress-
ing-room thought she had her own sledge waiting
for her.

But in her thin, silk slippers, she was hurrying
home without telling any one of her trouble. No one
knew her in the darkness as she walked on the road-
side; no one could think the tramp, who was driven
deep into the snowdrifts by passing sledges, was
beautiful Marienne Sinclaire.

When she could go securely along the middle
of the road, she began to run. She ran as long as
she could, then walked, then ran again. A miserable,
aching fear drove her forward.

From Ekeby to Bjorne is about a mile and a half.
Marienne was soon home, and yet she almost felt

ri2 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

she had come to the wrong place — for all the doors
were closed, and all the lights were out — she won-
dered if her parents had not yet arrived.

She went forward and knocked loudly at the hall
door. She clutched the latch and shook it till it re-
sounded all over the house. No one came to open,
but when she dropped the iron latch which she had
held, it tore away the frozen skin from her ringers.

Melchior Sinclaire had gone home to bar the door
against his only daughter.

He was intoxicated with much drinking, wild with
anger. He hated his daughter because she loved
Gosta Berling. Now he had locked the servants into
the kitchen and his wife into her bedroom, and he
swore a solemn oath to them that he would kill any
one who let Marienne in.

They knew he always kept his word. No one had
ever seen him so furious. No such sorrow had ever
touched him. If his daughter had come before him,
it is probable he would have killed her.

He had given her jewels and silken dresses; he
had let her learn all culture and wisdom. She had
been his pride, his honor. He had rejoiced over her
as if she wore a crown. She was his queen, his god-
dess, his adored, proud, beautiful Marienne! Had
he ever grudged her anything? Had he not always
felt himself to be too coarse to be her father? Ah,
Marienne !

Ought he not to hate her when she fell in love

THE BALL AT EKEBY 113

with Gosta Berling and kissed him? Ought he not
to turn her out and bar his doors upon her, when
she had dishonored her grandeur by loving such a
man? If she stayed at Ekeby,or if she crept away to
some of the neighbors to get a lodging for the night,
if she slept in the snowdrift, it was all the same, she
was already trampled in the dirt, his lovely Mari-
enne. Her glory was gone ; the glory of his life was
gone too.

He lay in his bed and heard her knocking at the
door. What did it matter to him? Some one stood
there who was ready to marry an unfrocked par-
son— he had no home for such a woman. If he
had loved her less, if he had been less proud of
her, he might have let her in. He could not refuse
them his blessing — he had lost that in gambling to
Gosta; but to open his door to her — that he would
not do.

And the young girl still stood outside the door
of her home. Now she shook the latch in a fit of
fury; now she fell on her knees, and, clasping her
frozen hands together, begged forgiveness.

But no one heard her, no one answered, no one
opened.

Was it not awful ? I am frightened in speaking of
it. She came from a ball where she had been queen;
she had been proud, rich, and happy, and in a mo-
ment she was cast down into bottomless misery.
Shut out of her home, given a prey to the snow;

ii4 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

not scorned, nor beaten, nor cursed, only shut out
with cold, determined heartlessness.

Think of the frosty, starry night surrounding
her, the great wide night with its desolate fields of
snow, and the silent forests. All slept, all was sunk
in painless sleep, there was only one living point in
all that slumbering whiteness. All sorrow and fear
and horror, which at other times seems spread over
all the world, were concentrated in that one lonely
point. O God ! to suffer alone in the midst of that
slumbering, icy world.

For the first time in her life, Marienne knew
hardness and cruelty. Her mother would not leave
her bed to let her in; old servants, who had taught
her to walk, heard her, but would not move a muscle
to save her ; and why was she thus punished ? Where
was her refuge, if not here? If she had been guilty of
murder, she would have come here believing they
would forgive her. If she had fallen to the greatest
depth of misery, and come here in rags, she would
have approached the door confidently, expecting
a loving welcome. That door was the entrance to
her home, and behind it she could only expect to
find love.

Had her father not tried her sufficiently; would
he never open? Would n't they open it soon?

"Father, father," she cried, "let me in. I am
frozen and trembling. It is dreadful out here/'

" Mother, mother, you have taken so many steps

THE BALL AT EKEBY 115

to serve me, you have watched for me so many
times, why do you sleep now? Mother, mother,
awake this night also, and I will never cause you
any more sorrow/'

She called and then sank into breathless silence,
to listen for an answer. No one heard her, no one
answered.

She wrung her hands in agony, but no tears
dimmed her eyes.

The long, dark house, with its closed doors and
unlighted windows, lay mysterious, immovable in
the night. What was to become of her without her
home? She was dishonored, branded, as long as the
heavens stand over the earth ; and her own father
had set the red iron on her shoulder.

"Father," she cried once more, "what will be-
come of me? People will think the worst of me."

She wept in anguish, her body was rigid with cold.

Ah, that such trouble can envelop those who have
stood so high. That it is so easy to be cast out into
the deepest misery! Are we not then to fear life?
Who of us sails securely ? Round us surges sorrow
like a foaming sea; see how its waves hungrily lick
the sides of the vessel; see how they try to board
her ! Oh, there is no sure anchorage, no firm ground,
no trusty ship, as far as the eye can reach, only an
unknown heaven over the sea of trouble.

But silence! At last, at last! Light steps come
through the entrance hall.

n6 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

"Is it you, mother?" asked Marienne.

"Yes, my child."

"Can I come in now?'

"Your father won't let you in."

"I have walked in my thin shoes from Ekeby.
I have stood here an hour and knocked and called.
I am freezing to death. Why did you leave me?'

"My child, my child, why did you kiss Gosta
Berling?"

'" But tell my father that that does not mean that
I love Gosta; it was in fun. Does he think I want
to marry Gosta?'

"Go to the farm-bailiff's house, Marienne, and
ask to remain there for the night. Your father is
drunk, he won't hear reason. He locked me upstairs.
I crept out when I thought he slept. He will kill me
if I let you in."

"But, mother, shall I go to strangers when I have
my own home? Are you as hard as my father? How
can you allow him to shut me out? I will lie here in
the snowdrifts, if you won't let me in."

Marienne's mother laid her hand on the latch,
but at that moment heavy steps were heard on the
staircase and a harsh voice called her.

Marienne listened — her mother hurried away;
the harsh voice was scolding, and then . . . Mari-
enne heard something awful — every sound in the
silent house reached her ears. She heard the sound
of a blow — of the stroke of a stick or a blow on the

THE BALL AT EKEBY 117

head, then a faint cry, then another blow; he was
beating her mother — the fearful, tyrannous Mel-
chior Sinclaire was beating his wife.

Marienne threw herself writhing in agony on the
steps. She was crying now, and her tears froze on
the threshold of her home.

Pity — mercy ! Open, open, that she may give her
own shoulders to the blows. Oh, that he could beat
her mother! beat her, because she could not see her
daughter lie in the snowdrifts, because she had tried
to comfort her!

Great degradation swept over her that night. She
had dreamed herself a queen, and now she lay out-
side the door of her home, hardly better than a
whipped tramp. But she raised herself again in icy
anger. Once again she raised her hand and struck
the door and cried:

" Hear what I say — you — you — you who struck
my mother. You shall yet weep. Melchior Sinclaire,
you shall weep!'

And then Marienne turned and lay down in the
snowdrift. She threw aside her fur mantle, and lay
down in the black velvet dress which stood out
so distinctly against the white snow. She lay and
thought of her father coming out early for his
morning walk, and finding her there. Her only wish
was that he himself should find her.

• ••••••••

Oh, Death, you pale friend, is it as true as it is com-

n8 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

forting for me to know that I can never escape you ?
Even to me, the most diligent of the workers among
men, you will come; loosen the worn shoes from my
feet, snatch the duster and the milk-can out of
my hand, and take my working clothes offmy back.
With gentle force you will stretch me upon a lace-
embossed bed, you will wrap me in white linen, my
feet will not require any shoes, but my hands will be
covered with white gloves which no work will ever
soil. Crowned for the joy of rest, I shall sleep for a
thousand years. Oh, Saviour! The most diligent of
workers am I, and I dream with a shiver of delight of
the momentwhen I shall be taken to Thy kingdom.

Pale friend, my strength against yours is weak-
ness, but I tell you that your fight was harder against
the women of the olden days. The strength of life
was greater in their slight bodies; no cold could cool
their fiery blood.

You laid Marienne on your bed, oh, Death, and
you sat by her side, as an old nurse watches by the
cradle of a child till it sleeps. You true old nurse,
who knows so well what is best for the children of
men, how it must anger you when its playmates
come, with laughter and shouts, and wake your
sleeping child! How angry you must have been
when the cavaliers lifted Marienne from her icy bed,
when a man's arms clasped her to his breast, and
when warm tears fell from his eyes on her face.

THE BALL AT EKEBY 119

At Ekeby all the lights were out and the guests
departed. The cavaliers stood alone in the cav-
aliers' wing round the last half-emptied punch-
bowl.

Then Gosta tapped on the rim of the bowl, and
made a speech in honor of you — women of the
olden days. To talk of you was to talk of heaven,
he said. You were perfect beauty, perfect light. Ever
youthful, ever beautiful, and mild as the eyes of
a mother when she gazed at her child. As soft as a
little squirrel you hung about man's neck, and no
one ever heard your voice shake with anger; your
forehead never frowned, your soft hands never grew
hard and rough. You were saints in the temple of
your homes. Men lay at your feet, offering incense
and prayer to you. By your power, love worked its
miracles, and round your head poetry set its glit-
tering aureola.

And the cavaliers sprang up, wild with wine and
the intoxication of his words — their blood leap-
ing with joy. Even old Uncle Eberhard and lazy
Cousin Kristoffer did not draw back from the new
project. Quickly they harnessed the horses to the
big sledge and the racing sledges, and off they went
through the cold night to pay homage to those to
whom homage was due — to serenade those whose
bright eyes and rosy cheeks had graced the halls of
Ekeby.

Oh, it must have pleased you greatly, ladies, to

120 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

be awakened from the heaven of your dreams by
a serenade, sung by your most devoted admirers. It
must have pleased you much as it pleases a depart-
ing soul to awake to the music of Paradise.

But the cavaliers had not gone very far on their
way, for when they carne to Bjorne, they found Ma-
rienne lying in the drift at the gate leading to the
house. They trembled with fear and with fury when
they saw her there. It was like finding a worshipped
saint lying plundered and desecrated outside the
church door; it was as if an unhung villain had
broken the neck and torn out the strings of a Stradi-
varius.

Gosta shook his clenched fist at the dark house.

"You children of hate," he screamed." You hail-
stones and north wind — you destroyers of God's
pleasure garden!'

Beerencreutz lighted his horn lantern and threw
its beams upon the blue-white face. And the cava-
liers saw her torn hands, and the tears which had
frozen in her eyelashes, and they sorrowed like
women, for she was not only a saint to them but
also a beautiful woman who had been a joy to their
old hearts.

Gosta Berling threw himself on his knees beside
her!

"'Here she lies — my bride," he said. "She gave
me the bridal kiss some hours ago — and her father
promised me his blessing. She lies and waits for me

THE BALL AT EKEBY 121

here in her snowy bed." And he lifted her in his
strong arms.

"We will take her home to Ekeby," he cried.
"She is mine now. I have found her in the snow-
drift; no one can take her away from me. We will
not wake them in that house. What has she to do
inside the doors against which she had beaten her
hands bloody?'

He was allowed to do as he wished. He laid Ma-
rienne in the first sledge and took his place beside
her. Beerencreutz placed himself behind and took
the reins.

"Take some snow and rub her, Gosta," he com-
manded.

The cold had but paralyzed her limbs — that was
all. The excited heart still beat. She had not even
lost consciousness ; she knew the cavaliers had found
her, but she could not move. So she lay stiff and
motionless in the sledge, while Gosta sometimes
rubbed her with snow, sometimes wept over her
and kissed her, and she felt an unutterable longing
to lift even one hand, so that she might return his
caresses.

She remembered everything; lay there rigid and
immovable and thought clearly as never before.
Was she in love with Gosta Berling? Yes, she was !
Was it only a caprice born of the night? No, it had
been so for many years.

She compared herself with him and with the other

122 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

people in Varmland. They were all as unsophis-
ticated children. They followed every fancy that
drew them. They lived only a superficial life, and
had never analyzed the depths of their souls. But
she was different, as one does become by living
in the world; she could never give herself wholly
to anything. If she loved — yes, whatever it was
she did — it seemed as if one-half of herself stood
and looked on with a cold, scornful smile. She had
longed for a passion that should sweep her away in
unhesitating surrender. And now he had come, the
mighty victor. When she kissed Gosta Berling on
the balcony, she had forgotten herself for the first
time.

And now it came over her again, and her heart
beat so that she heard it. Would she never regain
the mastery over her limbs? She felt a mad delight
in being thrust out from her home. Now she would
be Gosta's without doubting. How foolish she had
been to force and bridle her love all these years.
Oh, it was glorious to give way to it, to feel her
blood rush madly along. But would she never, never
be freed from those chains of ice? She had been icy
hearted and yet fiery on the surface all her life; now
she was changed, she had a fiery soul in a body of
ice.

Then Gosta felt two arms slip round his neck in
a weak, almost powerless caress. He could only just
feel it, but Marienne meant to give expression to

THE BALL AT EKEBY 123

all the repressed feeling within her by a passionate
embrace.

When Beerencreutz saw this, he let the horse find
its own path on the well-known road, while he gazed
obstinately and continuously at the " Seven Sisters."

The Old Carriages

FRIENDS, if it should happen that you read
this at night, as I write it, you must not draw a
breath of relief and imagine that the good cavaliers
were allowed to sleep undisturbed, after they arrived
home with Marienne, and had arranged a comfort-
able bed for her in the best guest-chamber, opening
out of the grand salon.

They went to bed, and they went to sleep ; but
theirs was not the good fortune to sleep in peace
and quietness till midday, as it might have been
ours, dear reader, if we had been up till four o'clock
and our limbs ached wearily.

It must be remembered that during that time the
Lady of Ekeby was wandering about the country
with a beggar's scrip and staff, and that it never had
been her way, when there was anything to be done,
to wait for the convenience of tired wrong-doers.
She was never less likely to do so than on that night,
for she had determined to turn the cavaliers out of
Ekeby.

The time was past and gone when she sat in splen-
dor and might at Ekeby, and sowed joy over the
earth as God sows the stars over the sky. And while
she wandered homeless over the country, the honor
and glory of the great estate lay in the hands of the
cavaliers, to be guarded by them as the wind guards

THE OLD CARRIAGES 125

the ash-heap and the spring sunshine cherishes the
snowdrifts.

Sometimes it happened that the cavaliers drove
out six or eight together in their long sledge, tan-
dem, with sleigh-bells and flowing reins, and if they
met the Major's wife they did not hang their heads.
The noisy party stretched out clenched fists at her;
a sudden turn of the sledge obliged her to plunge
deep into the snowdrifts, and Major Fuchs, the
great bear hunter, always thought it necessary to
spit three times as a safeguard against the evil omen
of such a meeting.

They had no pity for her. She was to them awitch,
as she went about the roadways, and if misfortune
had overtaken her, they would have cared no more
than he who on Easter Eve fires off his gun and
hits a witch flying past on her broomstick.

It had become a matter of conscience with them,
poor cavaliers, to persecute the Major's wife. People
so often have been cruel and have persecuted one
another pitilessly in trying to save their own souls.

When, late at night, the cavaliers turned from the
drinking-table to the window, to see if the night
was calm and starlit, they often saw a dark shadow
glide over the courtyard, and they knew that the
Lady of Ekeby had come to look again at her dear
house, and then the cavaliers' wing shook with the
scornful shouts of the old sinners, and mocking
words were thrown at her from the open window.

126 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

In truth, pride and selfishness were ruining the
hearts of the poor adventurers. Sintram had instilled
hate into them, and they could not have been in
greater danger if the Major's wife had remained at
Ekeby. More die in the flight than on the field of
battle.

She did not cherish any great anger against the
men. Had1 the power been hers, she would have
punished them as you whip unruly boys, and then
received them into favor again. But she feared for
the well-beingof her beloved home, left in the hands
of the cavaliers, to be guarded as the wolf guards the
sheepfold and the storks guard the spring seed.

There are many who have suffered in the same
way. She was not alone in seeing ruin descend over
the beloved home, and feeling despair when the
cherished homestead fell to pieces. Many have seen
the home of their childhood return their gaze like a
wounded animal. Many have felt themselves guilty
when they have seen the old trees dying away in
the grasp of the lichens and the garden walks cov-
ered with grass. They could have fallen upon their
knees before the fields, which formerly were covered
with rich harvests, and begged them not to blame
them for their shameful condition. And they turn
away from the poor old horses; some one braver
must meet their eyes. And they do not dare stand
at the yard gate and see the cows returning from
pasture.

THE OLD CARRIAGES 127

No place on earth is so wretched to enter upon as
a ruined home.

Oh, I beg you — you who guard the fields and
meadows and parks and the happy flower-gardens
— guard them well ! With love and work ! It is not
well that Nature should sorrow over mankind.

And when I think how this proud Ekeby suf-
fered under the cavaliers' management,! could wish
that Fru Samzelius had gained her desire and turned
them out of Ekeby. It was not her wish to under-
take the management herself again. She had only
one intention — to free her home from those mad
creatures, those robbers, those locusts, after whose
passage no good seed could grow.

While she wandered over the country and lived
on alms, her thoughts were constantly with her
mother, and the feeling that no improvement of her
lot was possible until her mother's curse was lifted
gained firm hold in her mind.

No one had ever spoken of her death, so she
was probably still alive at the forge in the Alfdal
forests. Though ninety years old, she lived a life
of unceasing toil, watching over her dairy in sum-
mer and the charcoal-burning in winter, constantly
working and longing for the end of her life's mis-
sion.

And the Major's wife felt that her mother had
been living all those years to be enabled at length to
lift the curse from her shoulders. The mother could

ia8 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

not find it in her heart to die, who had called down
such trouble on her child.

And the Major's wife longed to go to her, so that
they both might secure peace. She would wander
through the dark forests, beside the shores of the
long river, till she reached the house of her youth.
She could have no rest till she had done that. There
were many who offered her a warm home and all
the gifts of faithful friendship in those days, but she
would not stay. Surly and angry, she went from one
estate to another, for she was oppressed by the curse.

She would go to her mother, but she must put her
house in order. She was not going to leave it in the
hands of such careless spendthrifts, drinkers, and
wasteful destroyers of God's good gifts.

Was she to go away and find her inheritance
dissipated on her return, her foundries standing
silent, her horses worn out, and her servants scat-
tered abroad? Oh, no; once more she would rise in
strength, and turn out the cavaliers from Ekeby.

She understood very well how happy her husband
felt in seeing the estates being ruined. But she knew
him well enough to be sure that if she once could
drive away these locusts, he would be too indifferent
to find new ones. If the cavaliers were sent away,
her old bailiff would manage Ekeby on the old lines.

And thus her shadow had often been seen on
the dark roads about the foundries. She had crept
in and out of the crofters' huts, and had whispered

THE OLD CARRIAGES 129

with the millers and the carters in the lower story
of the water-mill, and had consulted with the black-
smiths in the dark forges.

They had all sworn to help her. The honor and
glory of the old estate should not be left any longer
in the hands of the careless cavaliers, to be guarded
by them as the wind cherishes the ashes and the
wolf the sheepfold.

And on the night when the gay gentlemen had
danced and laughed and drunk, till, dead tired, they
had thrown themselves on their beds, on that night
they were to be turned out of Ekeby.

She let them enjoy themselves. She sat in the
forge and waited for the conclusion of the ball. She
had waited even longer, till the cavaliers returned
from their expedition, waiting in silent expectation
till it was told her that the last light had been ex-
tinguished in the cavaliers' wing and that the great
house slept. Then she arose and went out. It was
already five o'clock in the morning, but the dark
starlit February night still hung over the earth.

The Major's wife commanded that all the people
should assemble round the cavaliers' wing; she went
herself to the chief entrance, knocked, and was ad-
mitted. The young daughter of the Broby parson,
whom she had brought up to be a trusty servant,
met her.

"My lady is heartily welcome," she said, and
kissed her hand.

1 3o COST A BERLING'S SAGA

"Put out that light," commanded the Major's
wife. " Do you think I cannot find my way here
without a light?'

And she began a silent tour of inspection through
the quiet house. She went from cellar to garret, and
said good-by to it all. With stealthy footsteps they
moved from room to room.

The Major's wife held communion with her
memories ; the servant neither sighed nor sobbed,
but tear after tear fell unheeded from her eyes as
she followed her mistress. The silver cupboard and
the linen presses were opened, and the Lady of
Ekeby passed her hand lovingly over the fine white
damask cloths and the splendid silver tankards, and
over the huge pile of feather bolsters in the maid's
store-room. She must touch and handle everything,
all the looms and spinning-wheels, and she probed
the contents of the spice cupboard, and felt the
lines of tallow candles which hung from a pole in
the kitchen ceiling. "They are quite dry," she said;
"they could be taken down and laid away."

She went down to the wine-cellar, tilted up the
wine-casks gently, and ran her fingers over the rows
of bottles. She was in the buttery and kitchen. She
examined it all, and put out her hand in farewell to
all in her house.

Lastly she entered the living-rooms. In the din-
ing-room she placed her hand on the wide flaps of
the big table.

THE OLD CARRIAGES 131

"There are many who have eaten plentifully at
this board," she said. And thus she went through
all the rooms. She found the long wide sofas in their
places, and she felt the cold surface of the marble
tables borne up by the gilded griffins which sup-
ported the long mirrors with their trio of dancing
goddesses.

"This is a rich house," she said. "He was a splen-
did man who gave me all this to rule over."

In the salon, where the dancing had lately been
so gay, the stiff-backed chairs were ranged in order
round the walls. There she went to the piano and
gently struck a note. "Even in my time there was
no lack of gaiety and laughter here," she said.

She also entered the best guest-chamber open-
ing from the salon. It was quite dark in there, and
in feeling her way she touched the face of her com-
panion.

" Are you crying ? ' ' she asked, as she felt her fin-
gers wet with tears.

The young girl burst into sobs.

"My lady," she cried, "my lady, they will ruin
everything. Why do you leave us and let the cava-
liers ruin your house?'

Then the Major's wife drew up the blind and
pointed out into the yard.

"Have I ever taught you to weep and moan?'
she cried. "Look out, the yard is full of men; to-
morrow there won't be a cavalier left in Ekeby."

i32 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"And my lady is returning to us?" asked the

My time has not come yet," answered the Ma-
jor's wife. " The roadway must still be my home and
the strawstack my bed, but you shall guard Ekeby
for me till I come."

And they went on. Neither of them knew that
Marienne was sleeping in that room. But she was
not asleep. She was wide awake, had heard and
understood all. She had been lying on her bed, lost
in a reverie of love.

"Thou Mighty One," she said, "who hast lifted
me above myself! I lay in the deepest misery, and
thou hast turned it to Paradise. My hands were
wounded on the iron latch of the barred door, and
my tears lay frozen on the threshold of my home.
Hate froze my heart when I heard the blows my
mother received, and I tried to sleep away my anger
in the snowdrift, but Thou hast come to me. Oh,
Love, thou child of fire, thou hast come to one who
has been frozen to the heart. If I compare my misery
with the blessedness I have from it, the misery is
nothing. I am freed from all ties ; I have no father,
no mother, no home. Men will turn from me and
believe ill of me. Well, it is thy will, oh, Love, for
why should I stand higher than my beloved? Hand
in hand we will go forth into the world. Gosta Ber-
ling's bride is a poor girl. He found me in the snow-
drifts. So let us make our home together, not in wide

THE OLD CARRIAGES 133

halls, but in a cotter's hut in the forest clearing. I
shall help him to watch the charcoal-stacks. I shall
help him to set traps for haresand partridges. I shall
cook his food and mend his clothes. Oh, my beloved
— shall I feel lonely and sad when I sit there watch-
ing for you? I shall — I shall, but not for the days
of riches. Only for thee, only for thee shall I long,
and hope for thy footsteps on the forest path, for
thy glad song as thou comest home with thine axe
over thy shoulder. Oh, my beloved, my beloved, as
long as I live will I wait for thee!'

Thus lying and composing a hymn to the all-
conquering God of Love, she had not closed her
eyes when the Major's wife came in.

When they had left the room, Marienne rose and
dressed herself again. Once more she put on the
black velvet dress and the thin dancing-shoes. She
wrapped the bedcover round her as a shawl, and
hurried out once more in the awful night.

Quiet, starlit, and bitterly cold, the February
night still rested upon theearth.lt seemed as though
it would never end, and the darkness and cold which
it spread abroad that night lasted long, long after
the sun rose again, long after the drifts which Mari-
enne trampled through had melted into air.

Marienne hurried away for help. She could not
allow the men who had rescued her, had opened
their hearts and home to her, to be hunted out of
Ekeby. She would go to Sjo, to Major Samzelius.

i34 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

She must hurry, it would take her an hour to get
back.

When the Lady of Ekeby had said farewell to
her home, she went down to the courtyard, and the
strife round the cavaliers' wing began.

She placed the people round the tall, narrow
building, the second story of which was famous as
being the home of the cavaliers. In the biggest room
there, with its plaster walls and the large chests
painted red and the enormous folding-table where
the cards were swimming about in the spilt wine,
on the wide beds, hidden behind the yellow-striped
curtains, slept the cavaliers.

And in the stables before their full mangers slept
the cavaliers' horses, and dreamed of their youthful
exploits. How happy in those restful days to dream
of the wild feats of their youth! of their journeys to
the horse-market, where they stood day and night
under the open sky ; of sharp canters from early ser-
vice on Christmas morning; of trial races before ex-
changing owners, when drunken men, amid a rain
of cutting blows, leaned far out of their vehicles, and
swore fiercely in their ears. Happy so to dream,
when they know they will never leave the full man-
gers and the warm stalls of Ekeby!

In the old coach-house, where the broken chaises
and discarded sledges are placed, there is a wonder-
ful assemblage of old vehicles. There are small hand-
sledges and ice-hilling sledges painted in green and

THE OLD CARRIAGES 135

red and gold. There stands the first cariole seen in
Varmland, brought there by Beerencreutz as spoil
from the war of 1814. There are every conceivable
kind of shay and chaise with swaying springs —
post-chaises, extraordinary vehicles of torturing con-
struction, with their seats resting on wooden springs.
They are all there, all the murderous types of equi-
pages which have been sung about in the times
of road travelling. And there also stands the long
sledge which holds all the twelve cavaliers, and
poor, frozen, old Cousin KristofFer's covered sledge,
and Orneclou's family sledge with the moth-eaten
bear-skin cover and the worn crest on the splash-
board, and the racing sledges — innumerable racing
sledges.

Many are the cavaliers who lived and died at
Ekeby. Their names are forgotten, and they have
no place any longer in people's hearts; but the
Major's wife has gathered together all the old car-
riages in which they arrived at Ekeby, and preserved
them in the old coach-house.

They also sleep and dream, and let the dust
gather thickly over them. They never dream to
leave Ekeby again — never again. So the leather
bursts in the footbags, and the wheels fall to pieces,
and the wood-work rots — the old carriages don't
want to live any longer, they want to die.

But on that February night the Lady of Ekeby
ordered the coach-house to be opened, and, by the

136 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

light of torches and lanterns, she ordered the car-
nages belonging to the present set of Ekeby cava-
liers to be brought out — Beerencreutz's old cariole
and Orneclou's crested vehicle and the covered
sledge which protected Cousin Kristoffer. She cared
not whether the vehicle was intended for winter or
summer use; she was only careful each should get
his own.

And the old horses, which have been dreaming
before their full mangers, they are also awakened.

Dreams shall for once come true.

Again you shall make trial of the steep hillside,
and the mouldy hay in the shed of the village inn,
and the cut of the drunken horse-seller's whip, and
the mad racing over the slippery ice which you
tremble to stand upon.

When the tiny grey Norwegian horses were har-
nessed to a tall, spindle-like chaise, and the big,
bony, riding-horses to the low racing sledges, they
were quite in keeping. The old animals snorted when
the bits were forced into their toothless mouths, the
old vehicles groaned and creaked. Brittle infirm-
ity, which ought to rest in quiet till the end of the
worjd,was brought out to the sight of all ; stiff mus-
cles, lame forefeet, spavin, and strangles were shown
in the light of day.

The stablemen did manage at last to harness
the horses to the old vehicles, and then asked their
mistress in which vehicle Gosta Berling should be

THE OLD CARRIAGES 137

placed, for, as you know, Gosta Berling was brought
to Ekeby in Fru Samzelius' own sledge.

"Harness Don Juan to our best racing sledge,"
she commanded, "and spread the bear-skin cover
with the silver claws over it." And when the groom
objected — "There isn't a horse in my stable I
wouldn't give to be freed from that man. Do you
understand?'

So the horses and carriages are ready, but the cava-
liers are still asleep.

Now it is their turn to be brought out into the
wintry night, but it is a more daring exploit to take
them in their beds than to bring out the stiff old
horses and the rattling old carriages. They are dar-
ing, strong, fearful men, hardened by a hundred
adventures. They will resist to the death, and it will
be no easy task to take them in their beds, and bring
them down to the vehicles which are to convey
them away.

The Major's wife commanded that a stack of
straw standing near should be set on fire, so that
the light might shine into the cavaliers' room.

" The straw is mine — all Ekeby is mine," she said.

And when the strawstack was in flames, she cried,
"Wake them now." But the cavaliers slept on be-
hind firmly closed doors. The crowd raised that
fearful, frightful cry, "Fire! Fire!" — but the cav-
aliers slept.

The heavy hammers of the master blacksmith

138 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

struck against the outer door in vain; a hard snow-
ball broke a window-pane and flew into the room,
striking the curtains of a bed — but the cavaliers
slept soundly.

They dream a lovely girl throws her handker-
chief to them, they dream of the applause before the
curtain of the theatre, they dream of gay laughter
and the deafening noise of the midnight carouse.
It would require a cannon shot at their ear, a sea
of icy water, to awaken them.

They have sung and danced and played and
acted; they are heavy with wine, their strength is
gone; they sleep a sleep as deep as death.

That blessed sleep nearly saved them.

The people began to believe the silence hid some
menace. It might be that the cavaliers were away
seeking help. It might mean that they were stand-
ing on guard, with their ringers on the triggers
of their guns, behind the doors and the windows,
ready to shoot down the first man who entered.

The cavaliers were cunning and warlike men;
there must be some meaning in the strange silence.
Who could believe it of them that they would allow
themselves to be surprised like a bear in a hole.

The crowd shouted " Fire ! Fire ! ' time after
time, without any result. Then, when they were all
trembling, the Major's wife took an axe, and broke
open the outer door.

Then, alone, she sprang upstairs, tore open the

THE OLD CARRIAGES 139

door of the cavaliers* wing, and screamed again,
"Fire! Fire!"

That voice echoed more clearly in the minds of
the cavaliers than all the shouting of the crowd. Ac-
customed to obey its commands, twelve men sprang
up out of their beds, saw the glare on the windows,
snatched up their clothes, and sprang down the
stairs into the yard.

But there,in the doorway,stood the master smith
and two big carters, and great disgrace overtook
the cavaliers. As one by one they came down, they
were caught, thrown to the ground, their feet were
tied, and they were borne away to the carriage which
was destined for them.

Not one escaped — they were all caught. Beeren-
creutz, the fierce colonel, was tied and carried away
as well as Kristian Bergh, the strong captain, and
Uncle Eberhard, the philosopher.

Even the unconquerable, greatly feared Gosta
Berling was overpowered. The Major's wife had
succeeded; she was, after all, stronger than the cav-
aliers.

It was pitiful to see them as they sat bound on
the vehicles. Hanging heads and fierce glances were
to be seen — the courtyard echoed with oaths and
wild bursts of impotent rage.

The Lady of Ekeby went from one to another.

"You are to swear," she said, "never to return
to Ekeby."

140 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

" Begone, you witch ! '

"You shall swear," she repeated, "or I will throw
you, bound as you are, into the cavaliers' wing, and
you shall die there to-night, for I will burn down
the cavaliers' wing as sure as I live."

"You dare not."

*c Dare not? Is n't Ekeby mine? Oh, you scoun-
drels! Don't you think I remember how you spat
after me on the roadside? I should like to set fire
to the building even now, and let you all burn. Did
you lift a hand to help me when I was turned out
of my home? No, swear now!'

And she looked furious, though perhaps she
pretended to be more angry than she really was,
and so many men with axes stood around her, the
cavaliers were obliged .to swear.

Then she ordered their clothes and boxes to be
brought out and their hands to be untied, and the
reins were placed between their fingers.

But time had passed, and Marienne had reached
Sjo before this.

The Major was no late sleeper, he was up and
dressed when she came. She met him in the yard;
he had been to give his bears their breakfast.

He did not say much to her news, only went back
to his bears, tied a nose-rope to each, led them out,
and hurried away in the direction of Ekeby.

Marienne followed him at a distance. She was
ready to fall, she was so tired, but she saw a bright

THE OLD CARRIAGES 141

flare of fire in the sky, and that nearly frightened
her to death.

What a night that had been ! A man had beaten
his wife, and left his daughter to freeze to death
outside his doors. Did a woman intend now to burn
her enemies to death? Did the old Major intend to
set his bears upon his own people?

She conquered her weakness, passed the Major,
and ran wildly to Ekeby.

She was well ahead of him. She gained the
courtyard and pushed her way among the crowd.
When she gained the centre and stood face to face
with the Major's wife, she cried as loudly as she
could, "The Major! The Major is coming with his
bears!"-

There was great alarm among the people; all eyes
turned to the Major's wife.

You went for him," she said to Marienne.
Fly," cried Marienne, still more eagerly. " Fly,
for God's sake ! I don't know what the Major will
do, but he has the bears with him."

All stood with their eyes fastened upon the Ma-
jor's wife.

" I thank you for your assistance, my children,"
she said, calmly, to the people. "All has been so
arranged that you cannot be taken to task for this
night's doings, nor will they harm you in any way.
Go home now ! I don't wish to see any of my people
kill or be killed. Go now!"

cc
cc

142 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

The people stood motionless.

The Major's wife turned to Marienne.

"I know you love," she said; uyou have acted
in the madness of love. May the day never come
when you are powerless to prevent the ruin of your
home! May you ever bemistress of yourown tongue
and your own hand when anger fills your soul!'

" My children, follow me," she said, turning to
the people. " May God guard Ekeby, I go to my
mother. Oh, Marienne! when you have regained
your senses, when Ekeby is destroyed, and all the
country groans in famine, think then of your doings
this night, and take pity on the people!'

Ana! she left the courtyard, followed by all the
crowd.

When the Major arrived he found not a living
soul besides Marienne and a long row of horses
harnessed to old vehicles — a long, wretched line
of them, where the horses were not worse than the
carriages, nor the carriages worse than their owners.
They had all fared hardly in life.

Marienne went forward and unbound the cava-
liers. She saw how they bit their lips and would not
meet her eyes. They were ashamed as never before.
They had never been so degraded in their lives.

"I was not better off when I lay on my knees
on the steps at Bjorne a few hours ago," said Mari-
enne.

And so, dear reader, I will not try to describe

THE OLD CARRIAGES 143

the farther events of that night — how the old car-
riages went back to the coach-house, and the old
horses to their stalls, and the cavaliers to the cav-
aliers' wing. The dawn began to spread itself over
the eastern hills, and the day came bringing quiet-
ness and calm. How much quieter are the bright,
sunny days than the dark nights, under whose shel-
tering wing the wild beasts hunt and the owls hoot !

Only this I must add : when the cavaliers came
upstairs again, and they found a few drops in the
punch-bowl still to pour into their glasses, a sud-
den enthusiasm swept over them.

"Skal, for the Major's wife!" they cried.

Oh, she was a mighty woman ! What better could
they desire than to serve and adore her!

Was it not awful that the devil had such power
over her, and all she lived for was to send cavaliers'
souls to hell?

The Qreat "Bear of Qurlita

IN the forest live evil beasts, whose jaws are armed
with dreadful gleaming teeth or sharp beaks,
whose feet have sharp claws that long to fasten upon
a living throat, and whose eyes glimmer with the
lust of murder.

There live the wolves, which come out at night,
and give chase to the peasant's sledge, till the mother
must take the child sitting on her knee and throw
it out to save her own life and her husband's.

There lives the lynx, which the people call the
" big cat," for it is dangerous to speak of it by its
right name, in the forest at least. He who has talked
of it during the daytime had better see to the doors
and air-holes of his sheepfold at night, or it will
find its way thither. It climbs up the wall, for its
claws are as sharp as steel tacks, glides through
the narrow opening, and throws itself upon the
sheep. And it clings upon their necks, and drinks
the blood out of the jugular vein, and kills and de-
stroys till every sheep is dead. It does not stay its
wild death-dance among the terrified animals while
any of them show a sign of life.

And in the morning the peasant finds all his sheep
dead with mangled throats, for the big cat leaves
nothing living where it ravages.

In the forest, too, lives the great owl, which hoots

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 145

at twilight. If you anger him, then he swoops down
upon you, and tears out your eyes, for he is not a
real bird, but an evil spirit.

And there, too, lives the most terrible of all the
forest beasts — the bear, which has the strength of
twelve men, and, when once he has become blood-
thirsty, can only be killed by a silver bullet.

Can anything give a beast a nimbus of greater
terror than this, that he can only be killed by a sil-
ver bullet? What are the secret, awful powers that
dwell within him, and make him impervious to or-
dinary lead ! A child will lie awake many long hours,
shuddering in fear of the wicked beast which the
evil powers protect.

If you should meet him in the forest, tall as a
moving mountain, you must not run away nor try
to defend yourself; you must throw yourself down
on the earth and pretend to be dead. Many little
children have lain in fancy on the ground with a
bear bending over them. He has turned them over
with his paw, and they have felt his hot, panting
breath on their faces, but they lay motionless till
he went away to dig a hole to bury them in. Then
they rose gently and crept away, first slowly, then in
wildest flight. But think ! Think if the bear had not
found them to be really dead, but had given them
a bite to make sure, or if he had been hungry and
had eaten them at once, or if he had seen them when
they crept away and had pursued them! Oh, God!

146 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Terror is a witch who sits in the twilight of the
forests, and composes magic songs for the ears of
men, and fills their hearts with awful thoughts. Of
these are born Fear, which burdens life and veils
the beauty of the smiling landscape. Malicious is
Nature, and treacherous as a sleeping serpent, and
never to be trusted. There lies the Lofven Lake in
splendid beauty, but trust it not, it lies in wait for
its prey; every year it must receive its tribute of the
drowned. There lies the forest, enchantingly peace-
ful, but trust it not ! The forest is full of wicked
beasts, possessed by the spirits of the witches and
the souls of murderous villains.

Trust not the brook with its sweet waters! It has
sickness and death for you, if you wade there after
sunset. Trust not the cuckoo, which calls so joyfully
in spring. In autumn it changes into a hawk with
cruel eyes and awful claws ! Trust not the moss nor
the heather nor the ledge of rock: all Nature is
evil, possessed by invisible spirits which hate man-
kind. There is no place where you can set your foot
securely, and it is marvellous that feeble humanity
can withstand so much persecution.

A witch is Terror. Does she still sit in the dark-
ness of the Varmland forests and sing her magic
songs ? Does she still darken the beauty of the smil-
ing landscape and crush the joy of life ? Great has her
power been, I know well, for I too have had steel
put into my cradle and a piece of charcoal into my

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 147

bath ; I know it well, for I have felt her iron grip
upon my heart.

But you must not imagine I am going to tell you
anything dreadful. It is only an old story about the
great bear of Gurlita Cliff, and you are at liberty
to believe it or not, as ought to be the case with all
true stories of sport.

The great bear had his home on the fine mountain
peak called Gurlita Cliff, which rose, precipitous
and difficult of ascent, from the shore of the Upper
Lofven.

The root of an overturned pine, about which the
tufts of moss still hung, formed the roof and walls of
his house. Pines and fir trees protected it, and snow
covered it closely. He could lie there and sleep
a calm, sweet sleep from one summer to another.

Was he then a poet, a gentle dreamer, this shaggy
forest king, this cross-eyed robber? Did he wish
to sleep away the bleak night of the cold winter
and its colorless days, to be awakened by purling
streams and the songs of birds? Did he lie there and
dream of the reddening whortleberry banks, and of
the ant-hills full of brown, spicy little insects, and
of the white lambs that fed on the green slopes?
Would he, happy creature, escape life's winter?

The drifting snow whirled, whistling, among the
pine trees; the wolves and foxes were abroad, mad-

148 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

dened by hunger. Why should the bear alone slum-
ber? May he arise and feel how sharply the frost
nips, and how heavy it is to walk in the deep snow !

He has bedded himself in so well, he is like the
sleeping princess in the fairy tale. As she was awak-
ened to life by love, so he will be awakened by the
spring, by a sunbeam which finds its way between
the branches and warms his nose, by some drops
of water from the melting snowdrift which pene-
trates his fur coat. Woe to him who disturbs him
before that time!

If only any one had inquired how the forest king
wished to be awakened ! If a shower of hail had
not whisked suddenly between the branches and
found its way into his skin like a horde of angry
mosquitoes !

He heard sudden shouts and a great noise and
shots. He flung the sleep from his limbs, and tore
aside the branches to see what was the matter. There
was work for the old fighting champion. It was not
spring shouting and roaring outside his lair, nor
could it be the wind, which sometimes threw the
pine trees over and whirled the snow about, but it
was the cavaliers — the cavaliers from Ekeby.

They were old acquaintances. He well remem-
bered the night when Beerencreutz and Fuchs sat
in ambush in a Nygard cowshed, where a visit was
expected from him. They had just fallen asleep over
their gin flasks, but woke up to find he was carry-

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 149

ing away the cow he had killed out of the stall, and
fell upon him with guns and knives. They recap-
tured the cow, and destroyed one of his eyes, but
he managed to escape alive.

Yes, old acquaintances were they ! The forest king
remembered how they came upon him on another
occasion, just as he and his royal consort and their
children were lying down for their winter's sleep
in their old castle on Gurlita Cliff. He had escaped,
sweeping aside all that came in his path, and flee-
ing without heeding the bullets, but he was lamed
for life by a shot in the thigh, and when he returned
at night to his castle, he found the snowdyed red with
the blood of his royal mate, and the royal children
had been carried away to the dwellings of men, there
to grow up as their servants and friends.

The ground trembled, and the snowdrift cover-
ing the bear-hole shook, as the great bear, the cava-
liers' old enemy, broke out of his lair. Take care,
Fuchs, old bear hunter; take care, Beerencreutz,
colonel and camphio player; take care, Gosta Ber-
ling, hero of a thousand adventures!

Woe to all poets, all dreamers, all lovers ! There
stood Gosta Berling, his finger on the trigger of his
gun, as the bear went straight toward him. Why did
he not shoot? What was he thinking of?

Why did he not send a bullet into the broad
chest. He was standing in the right place to do it,
and the others had not the chance of a shot at the

ISO GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

right moment. Did he think he was on parade be-
fore the forest king?

Of course Gosta stood dreaming of beautiful Ma-
rienne, who was lying ill at Ekeby, having taken
cold on the night when she lay in the snowdrift.
He thought of her, who also was a sacrifice to the
curse of hate that lies over the world, and he shud-
dered at himself at having gone forth to persecute
and kill.

And there came the great bear straight to him,
blind in one eye from the blow of a cavalier's knife,
lame from a cavalier's bullet, angry and unkempt
and lonely since they had killed his wife and car-
ried off his children. And Gosta saw him as he
was, a poor persecuted beast, whose life he did not
care to take, for it was the only thing the poor crea-
ture possessed, when men had taken all else from
him.

" He may kill me/' thought Gosta, "but I won't
shoot."

And while the bear rushed toward him, he stood
as quietly as if on parade, and when the forest king
came right in front of him, he shouldered his gun
and took a step aside.

Then the bear pursued his way, knowing full well
there was no time to lose. He plunged into the for-
est, forced a way through drifts as high as a man,
rolled down the steep slopes, and fled irreclaimably,
while all the cavaliers who had stood with their guns

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 151

at full cock, waiting for Gosta's shot, now discharged
them after him.

But in vain. The ring was broken and the bear
was gone. Fuchs scolded, Beerencreutz swore, but
Gosta only laughed. How could they expect a man
as happy as he was to kill any of God's children?

The great bear of Gurlita Cliff escaped with his
life from the fray, but he had been thoroughly
awakened from his winter sleep, as the peasants soon
had cause to know. There was no bear who could
tear open the low, cellar-like roofs of their sheep-
folds so easily; none could so cunningly avoid a
carefully arranged ambush.

The people on the Upper Lofven were soon in
despair what. to do about it. They sent again and
again to the cavaliers, begging them to come and
shoot him.

And day after day and night after night, during
all the month of February, the cavaliers made their
way to the Upper Lofven in search of the bear, but
he always escaped them. Had he learned cunning
from the fox and sharpness from the wolves? While
they were guarding one farmyard, he was laying
the neighboring yard waste ; while they searched for
him in the forest, he was giving chase to a peasant
driving over the ice. He had become the most auda-
cious of marauders; he crept into the garret and
emptied the goodwife's honey-pot, and killed the
horse standing harnessed to her husband's sledge.

152 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

But by and by people began to understand what
kind of a bear he was, and the reason why Gosta Ber-
ling had not shot at him. Dreadful as it was to think
of, this was no ordinary bear ! No one need think of
killing him unless he carried a silver bullet in his
gun. A bullet of mingled silver and bell metal, cast
on a Thursday night at new moon in a church tower,
without the priest or sexton or any living mortal
knowing about it, would certainly bring him down,
but such a bullet was not easy to procure.

There was one man at Ekeby,more than the others,
who was mortified at this state of things. It was,
of course, Anders Fuchs, the bear hunter. He lost
both appetite and sleep in his anger at not being
able to kill the big bear of Gurlita Cliff, till at last he
also began to understand that the bear could only
be felled by a silver bullet.

Major Anders Fuchs was not a handsome man.
He had a clumsy, heavy body and a broad, red face
with hanging pouches under his cheeks and a many-
doubled chin. His small black moustache stood as
stiff as a brush above his full lips, and his black hair
was close and thick, and rose straight up on his
head. Besides this, he was a man of few words and
a great eater. He was not a man whom women met
with sunny smiles or open arms, and he did not
waste any tender glances on them either.

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 153

No one thought he would ever see a woman
to whom he would give preference, and anything
in connection with love or sentiment was utterly
foreign to his nature.

So when he went about longing for moonlight,
you must not imagine he wished to make the good
lady, Luna, a confidant in any tender love trouble;
he was only thinking of the silver bullet which must
be moulded by the light of the new moon.

On aThursday evening, when the moon was only
two fingers' width and hung over the horizon for
a couple of hours after sunset, Major Fuchs betook
himself from Ekeby without telling any one where
he was going. He had a fire-steel and a bullet form
in his game-bag and his gun on his back, and he
went toward Bro Church to see what Fortune had
in store for an honest man.

The church lay on the eastern shore of the nar-
row strait between the Upper and the Lower Lof-
ven, and Major Fuchs was obliged to cross Sund
Bridge to reach it. He marched down thither in
deep thought without looking up at the Bro Hills,
where the houses were sharply outlined against the
clear evening sky, or toward Gurlita Cliff raising its
round head in the evening glow. He stared only at
the ground, and wondered how he was to get hold
of the church key without any one discovering the
theft.

When he reached the bridge, he heard some one

i54 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

screaming so wildly that he was obliged to raise his
head.

A little German, Faber by name, was organist
at Bro at that time. He was a slender man, wanting
in both dignity and weight ; and the sexton was Jans
Larsson, a doughty peasant, but poor, for the Bro by
parson had cheated him out of his patrimony, five
hundred dalers. The sexton wanted to marry the
organist's sister, the little, refined Froken Faber,
but the organist would not hear of it, and thus the
two were enemies. That evening the sexton had met
the organist on the bridge and straightway fallen
upon him. He caught him by the chest, lifted him
over the parapet of the bridge, and told him he
would drop him into the strait if he would not
promise him the hand of the little lady. Still the
German would not consent ; he kicked and screamed
and still persisted in his "No," though he saw be-
neath him the stream of black, open water rushing
between its white banks.

"No, no!' he screamed, "no, no!'

And it is very possible that the sexton, in his
fury, would have allowed his captive to drop down
into the cold, black water, if Major Fuchs had not
come upon the bridge just then. He was startled,
placed Faber on his feet again, and disappeared as
rapidly as possible.

Little Faber fell upon the Major's neck and
thanked him for saving his life, but Major Fuchs

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 155

thrust him aside and said it was nothing to be thank-
ful for. The Major had no love for the Germans
since he lay quartered in Putbus on the Riigen dur-
ing the Pomeranian war. He had never been so
near starving to death as during that time.

Then little Faber was for running to Justice Schar-
ling and charging the sexton with attempting to
murder him, but the Major soon convinced him
that it was not worth while to do so; for in that
country it cost nothing at all to kill a German, not
a penny, and to prove the truth of his words, he
offered to throw him into the strait himself.

Then Faber calmed himself, and invited the
Major to go home with him and eat some sausages
and drink warm German beer.

The Major accepted, for he thought the organist
was sure to have a church key, and they went up
the hill on which Bro Church stood, with its rectory
and the sexton's and organist's dwellings around it.

"Please excuse things," said little Faber, when
he and the Major entered the room. "We are not
in very good order to-day, we have been so busy,*
my sister and I. We have killed a cock."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed the Major.

Directly afterwards little Froken Faber cameinuo
the room carrying great earthenware jugs full of
beer. Now every one knows that the Major did not
look upon women with the kindest of glances, but
he was obliged to look graciously on the little lady

156 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

who was so neat in her pretty cap and laces. The
fair hair was brushed so smoothly on her forehead,
and the homespun dress was so neat and so beauti-
fully clean, her little hands were so busy and eager,
and her little face so rosy and round, that he found
himself thinking that if he had seen that bit of
womankind twenty-five years ago, he would cer-
tainly have felt forced to pay court to her.

But though she was so rosy and helpful and so
neat, her eyes were quite red with crying. It was just
that which gave him such tender thoughts regard-
ing her.

While the men ate and drank, she passed in and
out of the room. Once she came to her brother,
curtsied, and asked, " Will my brother say how the
cows are to be placed in the shed?'

" Place twelve on the left and eleven on the right ;
they will not be crowded then/' replied little Faber.

"It is extraordinary how many cows you have,
Faber!" exclaimed the Major.

But the truth of the matter was that the organist
had only two cows, but he called one Twelve and the
other Eleven, so that it should sound grand when
he talked of them.

The Major learned that the cowhouse was being
rebuilt, so that the cows were out of doors during
the day, and were placed at night in the woodshed.

And going in and out of the room, the little
Froken came to her brother again, curtsied, and

GREAT BEAR OF GURL1TA CLIFF 157

said, "The carpenter was asking how high the cow-
house was to be built/'

" Measure by the cows," replied the organist.
"Measure by the cows."

Major Fuchs thought that a very good answer.

And without further ado the Major found him-
self asking the organist why his sister's eyes were
so red, and he learned that she was crying because
her brother would not allow her to marry the sex-
ton, who was a poor man and encumbered with debt.

That made the Major sink still deeper in thought.
He emptied one jugful after another and ate one
sausage after another without noticing what he was
doing. Little Faber shuddered at such an appetite
and such thirst, but the more the Major drank and
ate, the clearer grew his mind, and the more deter-
mined he became to do something for the little
Froken.

He was Major Fuchs, the bear hunter, the man
who ate up in one evening a piece of brawn which
the Judge's wife at Munkerud had intended to
last all through the Christmas holidays, and he was
pleased and in gentle mood at the thought of what
splendid sausage he was eating. Yes, he would cer-
tainly see to it that Froken Faber's eyes need weep
no more.

Meanwhile he kept his eye on the big key with
the curved handle hanging near the door, and no
sooner had little Faber, who had been obliged to

158 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

keep the Major company at the beer-jugs, laid his
head on the table and was snoring, than the Major
clutched the key, put on his cap, and hurried away.

A few minutes later he was feeling his way up
the steeple stairs, lighted by his tiny horn lantern,
and reached at last the bell tower, where the bells
opened their wide throats above him. Once there,
he scraped some bell metal off one of them with
a file, and he was just on the point of taking the
bullet form and a small pan out of his game-bag
when he discovered that he was without the most
important thing of all — he had brought no silver
with him. If there was to be any power in that bul-
let, it must be cast in that belfry. Now all was com-
plete : it was Thursday night and there was a new
moon, and no one knew of his being there, and yet
he could not cast his bullet. There in the silence of
the night he sent up such a mighty oath, it fairly
rang in the bells above him.

Just then he heard a slight noise in the church
below, and thought he heard steps on the stairs.
Yes, so it was, heavy steps were ascending the stairs.

Major Fuchs, standing there swearing so that
the bells trembled, became a trifle thoughtful at
this turn of affairs. He wondered who it could be
coming to help him cast his bullet. The footsteps
approached nearer and nearer. He who climbed the
stairs was certainly bound for the belfry.

The Major crept in among the beams and raft-

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 159

ers, and put out his lantern. He was not frightened
exactly, but everything depended on his doing his
work unseen. And no sooner was he concealed, than
the new-comer's head rose to the level of the floor.

The Major recognized him — it was the miserly
Broby parson. He, nearly crazy with covetousness,
was in the habit of hiding his treasure in the most
extraordinary places. Now he came to the belfry
with a packet of notes which he wished to conceal
there. He did not know that any one saw him ; he
lifted a board in the floor, placed the money under
it, and departed again.

The Major was not backward, he lifted the same
board. What heaps of money — rolls and rolls of
notes, and among them, leather pouches full of
silver! The Major took just as much silver as he
needed for his bullet, and did not disturb the rest.

When he descended from the belfry, the silver
bullet was in his gun. He marched away wondering
what more fortune had in store for him that night.
There is something extraordinary about Thursday
nights, as everybody knows. He took a turn in
the direction of the organist's house. Think, if that
wretch of a bear knew that Faber's cows stood in a
miserable shed, hardly better than being under the
open sky!

Well, was that not something big and black he
saw making its way over the field toward the cow-
shed? It must be the bear.

160 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

He laid his gun to his cheek and was quite pre-
pared to fire, when he suddenly changed his mind.

Froken Faber's red eyes appeared before him
in the darkness. He thought he would like to help
her and the sexton, but, of course, it was a great
sacrifice for him to give up the chance of killing the
great bear of Gurlita Cliff. He said afterwards that
nothing in his life had been so hard to do as that,
but as the little Froken was so particularly nice and
sweet, he did it.

He went to the sexton's house,woke him, dragged
him out half-naked, and told him that he must
shoot the bear which was creeping round Faber's
woodshed.

"If you shoot that bear, he will certainly give
you his sister," he said, "for you will at once be-
come an honored man. That is no ordinary bear,
and the best man in the country would think it an
honor to kill him."

And he placed his own gun in his hand, loaded
with the bullet made of silver and bell metal, cast in
a belfry on a Thursday night at new moon, and he
could not help trembling with envy that another
than he was to shoot the great forest king, the old
bear of Gurlita Cliff.

The sexton aimed — aimed, God help us, as if
he meant to shoot the Great Bear or Charles' Wain,
which, high in heaven, circles round the Polar Star,
and not a bear walking on the earth — and the gun

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 161

went off with a report which was heard even on
Gurlita Cliff.

But whatever he aimed at, the bear fell. That is
always the case when you shoot with a silver bullet.
You hit the bear in the heart even if you aim at
Charles' Wain.

The people rushed out at once from all the cot-
tages near, wondering what had happened, for never
did a shot sound louder or awake so many sleep-
ing echoes as that did, and the sexton was greatly
praised, for the bear was a real trouble to all the
country-side.

Little Faber also came out, but Major Fuchs
was cruelly deceived. There stood the sexton, highly
honored by his neighbors, and he had saved Fa-
ber's own cows, yet the little organist was neither
touched nor thankful. He did not open his arms
to the sexton as to a brother-in-law and a hero.

The Major wrinkled his brows and stamped his
foot in anger at such narrow-mindedness. He
wanted to explain to the avaricious, mean little man
what a feat had been done, but he began to stam-
mer so, he could not get a word out. And he grew
more and more angry at the thought of having use-
lessly sacrificed the great honor of killing the bear.

Oh! it was simply impossible for him to conceive
how the man who had accomplished such a feat
was not accounted worthy of winning the proudest
bride.

162 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

The sexton and some young men were going
to flay the bear. They went to the grindstones to
sharpen their knives, and the other people went
home and to bed, and Major Fuchs was left alone
with the dead bear.

Then he went off to the church again, turned
the key once more in the keyhole, climbed once
more the narrow, crooked stairs, woke the sleep-
ing pigeons, and entered the belfry.

Afterwards, when the bear was flayed under the
Major's supervision, they found a parcel of notes
worth five hundred dalers in his jaws. It was im-
possible to account for their presence there, but
after all, it was no ordinary bear, and as the sexton
had killed it, the money was clearly his.

When this became known, little Faber, too, be-
gan to understand what a glorious deed the sexton
had done, and he declared he would be proud to
own him as a brother-in-law.

On Friday evening Major Fuchs returned to
Ekeby, after having graced an assembly at the sex-
ton's held in honor of the dead bear, and another
at the organist's in honor of the new engagement.
He walked along with a heavy heart; he felt no
delight over his vanquished enemy, and took no
pleasure in the splendid bear- skin which the sex-
ton had presented to him.

Perhaps some might imagine that he mourned
because little Froken Faber belonged to another?

GREAT BEAR OF GURLITA CLIFF 163

Oh, no ! that caused him no grief. But what went to
his heart was that the old one-eyed forest king was
now dead, and he had not been the man to kill him
with a silver bullet.

He went up to the cavaliers' wing, where the
cavaliers sat round the fire, and without a word he
threw the bear-skin down before them. You must
not think he related his adventures there and then ;
it was long, long years before he could be persuaded
to tell the true facts of the case. Neither did he
make known the Broby parson's hiding-place, and
the parson probably never missed the money.

The cavaliers examined the skin.

"It is a beautiful skin," said Beerencreutz; "I
wonder why he rose from his winter sleep, or per-
haps you shot him in his lair?'

"He was shot in Bro."

"Well, he was not as big as the Gurlita bear, but
he must have been a splendid beast," said Gosta.

"If he had been one-eyed," said Kevenhuller,
"I should believe you had shot the old man him-
self, he is so big; but there is no wound or scar
near his eyes, so it can't be he."

Fuchs swore first over his stupidity, but after-
wards his face lighted up till he looked quite hand-
some. So the great bear had not fallen to another
man's shot!

"Lord God, how good Thou art!" he said, and
clasped his hands.

The ^Auction at TSjorne

WE young people must often wonder at the
stories told us by our elders. " Did you dance
every night as long as your beautiful youth lasted? '
"Was life for you one long adventure?" we asked
them. "Were all girls lovely and amiable in those
days, and did Gosta Berling elope with one of them
after every ball?'

Then the old people shook their heads and told
of the whirlingof the spinning-wheels and the boom
of the looms, of cooking, of the thunder and crash
in the track of the axe through the forests; but be-
fore long they harked back again to the old sto-
ries. Sledges drove up to the hall door and raced
through the dark woods with their load of gay young
people, the dancing grew wild, and the violin strings
snapped. The wild wave of adventure rushed tu-
multuously along the shores of Lake Lofyen,
and its noise was heard afar. The forests swerved
and fell, all the powers of destruction were loose,
flames flared, the rapids swept away their prey, and
wild beasts prowled hungrily round the homesteads.
Under the hoofs of the eight-footed horses all quiet
happiness was trampled in the dust. And wherever
the wild hunt passed, men's hearts flamed up tem-
pestuously, and the women fled from their homes
in pale dismay. And we sat wondering, silent, fright-

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 165

ened, and yet blissfully happy. "What people they
were/' we thought to ourselves ; " we shall never see
their like!"

" Did people in those days never think of what
they were doing?" we asked.

"Certainly, they did," our elders answered.

"But not as we think," we persisted. Then our
elders did not understand what we meant.

For we were thinking of the wonderful spirit of
self-analysis which had already taken possession of
our minds ; we were thinking of him with the icy eyes
and the long, knotted fingers — he, who sits in the
darkest corner of our souls, and plucks our being
to pieces as old women pluck scraps of wool and
silk. Piece by piece, the long, hard fingers have dis-
sected us till our whole being lies there like a heap
of rags — till all our best feelings, our innermost
thoughts, all we have said and done is examined,
ransacked, disintegrated, and the icy eyes have
watched, and the toothless mouth has sneered and
whispered, "See, it is but rags, nothing but rags."

One of the people of those old days had opened
her soul to that spirit. He sat there watching at the
font of all impulse, sneering both at the good and
the evil, understanding all, judging nothing, exam-
ining, searching, and plucking to pieces and para-
lyzing all emotions of the heart and all strength of
thought by smiling scornfully at everything.

Marienne Sinclaire bore the spirit of self-analy-

1 66 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

sis within her. She felt his eyes follow every step,
every word of hers. Her life had become a play, at
which she was the only spectator. She was no longer
a human being — she was neither wearied, nor did
she rejoice, nor could she love. She played the part
of the beautiful Marienne Sinclaire, and the spirit
of self-analysis sat with staring eyes and busy fin-
gers and watched her acting. She felt herself divided
into two, and half of her being — pale, unfeeling,
and scornful — watched the other half's transactions;
and the spirit which thus plucked her asunder had
never a word of kindness or sympathy for her.

But where had he been, the pale watcher beside
the springs of impulse, on the night she had learned
to feel life's fulness? Where was he, when she, the
wise Marienne, kissed Gosta Berling before the eyes
of two hundred people, and when she threw her-
self into the snowdrift to die in despair? The icy
eyes were blinded, and the sneer was paralyzed, for
passion had swept through her soul. The wild wave
of adventure had thundered in her ears. She had
been a whole being during that one awful night.

Oh, god of self-scorn, when Marienne lifted at
last her frozen arms to Gosta's neck, then, like old
Beerencreutz, thou wert compelled to turn thy eyes
from earth and look at the stars ! That night thou
hadst no power. Thou wast dead while she sang
her love hymns, dead when she hurried to Sjo for
the Major, dead when she saw the flames redden-

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 167

ing the sky over the treetops. See, they have come,
the strong storm birds, the demon birds of passion.
With wings of fire and claws of steel, they have
swooped down upon thee, and flung thee out into
the unknown. Thou hast been dead and destroyed.
But they, the proud and mighty, they whose path
is unknown and who cannot be followed — they
have swept onward, and out of the depths of the
unknown the spirit of self-observation has arisen
again, and again taken possession of Marienne's
soul.

She lay ill at Ekeby all through February. She
had taken smallpox at Sjo, when she went to find
the Major, and the awful sickness had her com-
pletely at its mercy, for she had been frightfully
chilled and wearied during that night. Death had
been very near her, but toward the end of the
month she grew better. She was still weak, and was
greatly disfigured. She would never again be called
beautiful Marienne. This misfortune, which was
to bring sorrow over all Varmland as if one of its
best treasures had been lost, was known, as yet,
only to Marienne and her sick nurse. Even the
cavaliers were not aware of it. The room in which
the smallpox reigned was closed to all. But where
is the spirit of self-analysis stronger than in the
long hours of convalescence ? There it sits and stares
and stares with its icy eyes, and plucks and plucks
to pieces our being with its knotted fingers. And if

1 68 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

you look closely, you see behind him another pale
being who stares and sneers and paralyzes, and be-
hind him still another and another, all sneering at
one another and the whole world. While Mari-
enne lay there and stared at herself with those icy
eyes, all feeling died within her. She lay there and
played the part of being ill and being unhappy;
she played at being in love and being revengeful.
She was all this, and yet it was but acting a part.
Everything became unreal under the gaze of those
eyes watching her, which, again, were watched by
another pair, and another, and another in an end-
less perspective. All life's powers were asleep; she
had had strength for burning hate and overwhelm-
ing love for one night only. She did not even know
if she loved Gosta Berling. She longed to see him
to prove if he could carry her out of herself.

While the illness raged she had only one clear
thought. She took care that the nature of the fever
should remain unknown. She would not see her
parents: she had no wish for reconciliation with her
father. She knew he would repent if he heard how
ill she was. So she commanded that her parents,
and others too, in fact, were to be told that her
eyes, which were always weak when she visited her
native place, compelled her, for a time, to remain
in a darkened room. She forbade her nurse to say
how ill she was and forbade the cavaliers sending
for a doctor from Karlstad. She certainly had the

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 169

smallpox, but it was a mild case — the medicine-
chest at Ekeby contained all that was necessary to
save her life. She never thought of dying: she only
waited to be well enough to go with Gosta to the
pastor and arrange for the banns to be published.
But now the fever had left her. She was cool and
prudent again. It seemed to her as if she alone was
wise in this world of fools. She neither loved nor
hated ; she understood her father, she understood
them all. He that understands does not hate. She
had been told that Melchior Sinclaire was going
to have an auction at Bjorne and make away with
all his possessions so that she would have nothing
to inherit from him. They said he intended mak-
ing the wreck as complete as possible. He would
sell the furniture and household goods first, then
the horses and cattle and farm implements, and
lastly, the estate itself; and he intended putting the
money in a bag and sinking it in the Lofven. Her
inheritance would be ruin, dissipation, and dismay.
Marienne smiled approvingly when she heard this.
Such was his character; he was sure to act like that.
It seemed extraordinary to her that she should
have poured forth that poem of love. She, too, had
dreamed of the miner's hut — she, as well as oth-
ers. It was wonderful to her that she had ever had
a dream. She sighed for nature — she was weary of
constantly acting a part. She had never had a strong
feeling. She hardly mourned her lost beauty, but she

1 70 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

shuddered at the thought of pity from strangers.
Oh, a second of self-forgetfulness, a gesture, a word,
an act which was not premeditated!

One day, when the room had been disinfected, and
she lay dressed upon the sofa, she sent for Gosta
Berling. They told her that he had gone to the auc-
tion at Bjorne.

At Bjorne there was, in truth, a great auction going
on. It was an old and wealthy estate, and people
had come from great distances to take part in the
sale.

Melchior Sinclaire had gathered all the house-
hold belongings into the great salon. There were
thousands of things there, thrown in heaps which
reached from the floor to the ceiling.

He had gone about the house like a destroying
angel on Judgment Day, and gathered together all
he intended to sell. The kitchen utensils, the black
cauldrons, wooden chairs, tin pots, and copper pans
were left in peace, for they did not remind him of
Marienne, but there was little else that escaped his
wrath.

He broke into Marienne's room, carrying away
everything. Her doll cupboard stood there and her
bookcase, the little chair he had ordered to be carved
for her, her clothes and ornaments, her sofa and
bed — they must all go.

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 171

And he went from room to room. He snatched
up anything he took a fancy to, and carried great
burdens down to the auction room. He panted
under the weight of sofas and marble tables, but he
persisted in his work. And he threw it all down in
the greatest confusion. He had torn the cupboards
open and brought out the family silver. Away with
it! Marienne had used it. He gathered up armfuls
of snow-white damask and smooth linen towels with
wide open-work hems — honest, homemade stuff,
the fruit of years of toil — and tumbled it all in
a heap. Away with it! Marienne was not worthy
to inherit it. He stormed through the rooms with
piles of porcelain, caring little if he broke dozens of
plates, and he carried off the teacups on which the
family crest was painted. Away with them ! Let who
will use them. He brought downstairs mountains of
bed-clothes from the garrets — pillows and bolsters
so soft, you could sink in them as in a wave. Away
with them! Marienne had slept in them.

He cast furious glances at the well-known fur-
niture. There wasn't a chair or a sofa that she had
not used, nor a picture that she had n't looked at,
nor a chandelier that had n't lighted her, nor a mir-
ror that hadn't reflected her beauty. Gloomily he
shook his fist at that world of memories. He could
have rushed at them with lifted club and broken
them in pieces.

Yet it seemed to him an even greater revenge to

1 72 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

make an auction of it all. Away to strangers with
it! Away to be soiled in the cotters' huts, to be
destroyed in the charge of the stranger ! Did n't he
know them well? Those old pieces of furniture,
fallen from high estate, to be seen in the peasants'
huts, fallen as his daughter had fallen! Away with
them all to the four corners of heaven, so that no
eye could find them, no hand could gather them
together again!

When the auction opened, he had filled half the
salon with an incredible jumble of household goods.

Across the room he had placed a long counter.
Behind thisstood theauctioneer and cried thegoods,
and the clerk sat there making notes, and Melchior
Sinclaire had a cask of gin standing beside him.
At the other end of the room, in the hall, and out
in the yard, stood the buyers. There was a great
crowd of people and much shouting and laughter.
The sale was brisk, and one thing was cried after
another, while by- the side of his cask, with all his
possessions in indescribable confusion behind him,
sat Melchior Sinclaire, half drunk and half crazy.
The hair stood stiffly erect above his red face, his
eyes rolled bloodshot and furious. He shouted and
laughed as if he were in the best of tempers, and he
called up every purchaser and gave him a glass of
his gin.

Among those who saw him thus was Gosta Ber-
ling, who had come in with the crowd, but avoided

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 173

being seen by Melchior Sinclaire. He became
thoughtful at the sight, and his heart contracted as
with a foreboding of misfortune.

He wondered where Marienne's mother could
be while all this was going on, and he went, much
against his will, but driven by fate, to seek her.

He went through many rooms before he found
her. The great land proprietor had but short pa-
tience and little liking for women's tears and wail-
ing. He had grown tired of seeing her tears flow at
the fate overtaking all her treasures. He was furi-
ous to see that she could mourn over linen and
bedclothes when his beautiful daughter was lost
to them, and with clenched fists he had driven her
before him through all the house, into the kitchen,
and even into the pantry.

She could go no further, and he had been satis-
fied at seeing her there, crouching under the step-
ladder awaiting a blow, perhaps a death-blow. He
let her remain there, but he locked the door and
put the key into his pocket. She might remain there
while the auction lasted. She would not starve, and
his ears were spared her wailing.

There she sat still, a prisoner in her own pan-
try, when Gosta walked down the corridor to the
kitchen, and he saw her face at a high little win-
dow which opened in the wall. She had climbed
up the step-ladder and was gazing out of her
prison.

i74 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"What is Aunt Gustafva doing up there?' he
asked.

"He has locked me in," she whispered.

"What! Melchior Sinclaire?"

"Yes, I thought he would kill me. But, Gosta —
get the key of the salon door andgointo the kitchen
and open the pantry door with it so that I can get
out. That key fits."

Gosta obeyed, and a few minutes later the little
woman was in the kitchen, which was quite de-
serted.

"Aunt should have told one of the servant-girls
to open the door with that key," said Gosta.

"Do you think I would teach them that trick?
I should never have anything left in peace in the
pantry after that. And besides, I began to put the
upper shelves there into order. They needed it. I
can't understand how I allowed so much rubbish to
collect there."

Aunt has so much to look after," said Gosta.
It 's too true. If I am not seeing to everything,
neither the spinning nor weaving goes right. And
if ... She paused and wiped a tear from her
eyes. "God help me, what nonsense I 'm talking !':
she said. " I won't have much to look after now.
He is selling all we have."

"Yes, it is a miserable business," said Gosta.

"You remember the big glass in the drawing-
room, Gosta? It was so beautiful because the glass

cc

(C

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 175

was all in one piece and without a scratch, and
there wasn't a spot on the gilding. I got it from my
mother, and now he wants to sell it."

"He is mad."

"You may well say so. It can't be anything else.
He won't stop till he has beggared us, and we must
tread the road like the Major's wife."

"It will not go so far as that."

" Yes, Gosta. When the Major's wife left Ekeby,
she foretold misfortune for us, and it has come.
She wouldn't have allowed it — she would never
have allowed him to sell Bjorne. And think of it —
his own porcelain — the real china cups from his
own home are to be sold ! She would never have
allowed it."

" But what is the matter with him ? " asked Gosta.

"Oh, it is all because Marienne has not returned.
He has gone about waiting and waiting. He has
walked up and down the lane for days waiting for
her. He will go mad with longing, but I daren't
say anything."

"Marienne thinks he is angry with her."

"Oh, no,she doesn't think that;she knows him,
but she is proud and will not take the first step.
They are proud and hard, both of them, and they
are in no trouble. It is I who must stand between
them."

"Aunt knows that Marienne is going to marry
me?"

176 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"Oh, Gosta, she never will do that. She says it
only to madden him. She is too spoiled to marry
a poor man, and too proud, too. Go back now and
tell her that if she does not come home soon, all
her inheritance will be wasted. He will destroy it
all without getting anything for it."

Gosta was really angry with her. There she sat
on the big kitchen table, and had no heart for any-
thing but her looking-glass and her porcelain.

"You ought to be ashamed, Aunt Gustafva,"
he exclaimed. "You turn your daughter out into
the snowdrifts, and then you think it simply wick-
edness of her not to return home. And you think
no better of her than that she would desert one
she cares for because she will be disinherited?"

" Dear Gosta, don't be angry — you also. I hardly
know what I 'm saying. I tried to open the door
for Marienne, but he dragged me away. They al-
ways say that I don't understand things. I don't
grudge you Marienne, Gosta, if you can make her
happy. It isn't so easy to make a woman happy,
Gosta."

Gosta looked at her. How could he have lifted
an angry voice against her? She looked so fright-
ened, so hunted to death ; but she was kind hearted.

"Aunt has not inquired how Marienne is," he
said, softly.

She burst into tears.

"Don't be angry if I ask," she cried. "I have

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 177

longed to ask you all the time. Think of it — I
know nothing about her except that she is alive.
I have heard nothing from her all this time, not
even when I sent her some clothes, and I thought
neither of you meant to tell me anything."

Gosta could not withstand the pity of it. He was
wild and giddy. God sometimes sent His wolves
after him to compel his obedience, but the tears of
that old mother and her wailing were worse to bear
than the howling of the wolves. He told her the
truth.

"Marienne has been ill all the time," he said.
" She has had smallpox. She was to sit up to-day on
the sofa. I have not seen her since that first night."

With a bound Fru Gustafva was on the floor.
She left Gosta standing there and rushed at once to
her husband. The people in the auction room saw
her come and whisper something eagerly in his ear.
They saw his face redden, while his hand resting on
the tap of the cask twisted it till the gin flowed over
the floor. It seemed to all that she brought impor-
tant news which would stop the sale. The auction-
eer's voice ceased, the clerks stopped writing, there
were no further bids.

Melchior Sinclaire awoke from his thoughts.
" Well," he screamed, " are n't you to go on ? " And
the auction was in full swing again.

Gosta still sat in the kitchen when Fru Gustafva
came back weeping to him. "It was no use," she

178 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

said; "I thought he would stop when he heard
Marienne had been ill, but he lets them continue.
He would like to stop, but he is ashamed now."

Gosta shrugged his shoulders and bade her fare-
well.

In the hall he met Sintram.

"A devilish funny affair," exclaimed Sintram,
rubbing his hands. "You are a master-hand at get-
ting up such things, Gosta/'

"It will be funnier still in a little while," whis-
pered Gosta. "The Broby parson is here with a
sledgeful of money. They say he wants to buy all
Bjorne and pay the money down, and I should just
like to see Melchior Sinclairethen, Uncle Sintram."

Sintram dropped his head between his shoulders
and laughed to himself a long time. Then he made
off to the auction room and straight to Melchior
Sinclaire.

"If you want a glass, Sintram, you have got to
make a bid first."

Sintram went up close to him. "You have good
luck as usual, Melchior," he said. "A great man
has come to Bjorne with a sledgeful of money. He
is ready to buy Bjorne with all its goods and chat-
tels. He has arranged with a number of people to
do the bidding for him. I suppose he doesn't want
to show himself at once."

" You may as well say who it is, and I will give
you a smack for your trouble."

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 179

Sintram took the smack and retreated two steps
before he answered," It is the Broby parson, Brother
Melchior."

Melchior Sinclaire had many better friends than
the Broby parson. There was a feud of many years'
standing between them. There were stories of the
great land proprietor having lain in ambush on dark
nights on the road where the parson must pass, and
having given many a good honest thrashing to that
toady and grinder of the poor.

And though Sintram had retreated a few steps,
he did not quite escape the great man's anger. He
got a wineglass between his eyes and the whole
cask on his feet, but this was followed by a scene
which gladdened his heart for many a day.

"Does the Broby parson want my estate?'
screamed Sinclaire. "Are you standing there and
bidding for the Broby parson? You ought to be
ashamed; you ought to know better!" He caught
up a candlestick and an inkstand and flung them
at the crowd. It was his heart's bitterness finding
expression. Roaring like a wild beast, he shook his
fist at the bystanders, and flung whatever he could
lay his hands on at them. The brandy bottles and
glasses flew across the room; he was beside him-
self with rage. "The auction is over," he shouted.
" Out with you ! Never while I live shall the Broby
parson possess Bjorne. Out with you all ; I '11 teach
you to buy in for the Broby parson!" He attacked

i8o GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

the auctioneer and the clerks; in trying to escape,
they overturned the counter, and the furious squire
was in the midst of the crowd. A stampede ensued
— :more than a hundred men rushed toward the
door fleeing from one. And he stood still shouting,
"Out with you!' He sent curses after them, and
now and then he swung over his head a chair, which
he had used as a weapon. He followed them into
the hall, but no further. When the last stranger left
the doorstep, he returned to the salon and bolted the
door after him. Then he gathered together a mat-
tress and a pair of cushions, and lay down and went
to sleep amid all the wild disorder, and did not
wake till next day.

When Gosta got home he was told that Mari-
enne wished to speak to him. It was just what he
wanted. He had wondered how he might see her.
When he entered the dimly lighted room in which
she lay, he was obliged to pause a moment at the
door, for he could not distinguish her.

"Stay where you are, Gosta," said Marienne to
him. " It is perhaps dangerous to come near me."

But Gosta had come, taking the stairs in two
strides, trembling with eager longing. What cared
he now for infection? He longed for the bliss of
again seeing her. She was so beautiful, his beloved.
No one had such soft hair, such a clear, open brow;
all her face was a play of lovely curves. He thought
of her eyebrows, sharply and clearly pencilled like

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 181

the stamens of a lily, of the daring curve of the
nose, and the soft wave of the lips, and the long
oval of her cheek, and the refined cut of her chin.
And he thought of the clear complexion, of the be-
witching expression made by the black eyebrows
under the fair hair, and of the blue eyes in their
white setting, and of the gleam of light which hid
in the corners of them. She was so lovely, his be-
loved. He thought of the warm heart hiding under
her haughty mien. She had strength for love and
self-sacrifice under that fine skin and those proud
words. It was bliss to see her again. He had made
two steps of the stairs, did she think he would stand
now at the door? He sprang through the room and
knelt at her sofa. He meant to see her, kiss her,
and bid her farewell. He loved her, and would prob-
ably never cease to love her, but his heart was ac-
customed to suffering. Oh, where was he to find her,
the rose without support or root which he might
gather and call his own? He could not even keep
her he had found deserted and half dead in the
snowdrift. When would his love raise its song, a
song so high and pure that no discord would rend
it? When could his happiness build on a ground
which no other soul longed for? He thought of his
farewell to her.

"There is great trouble in your home to-day,"
he would say. " My heart ached at the sight of it.
You must go home and bring your father to his

182 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

senses. Your mother lives in constant fear of her
life. You must go home again, my dearest."

He had those renunciating words on his lips, but
they remained unuttered. He fell on his knees by
the pillow, and he took her head between his hands
and kissed it, and after that he found no words.
His heart was beating so violently, it threatened to
burst its bonds. The smallpox had gone over the
lovely face. Its complexion was coarsened. Never
again would the red blood show in the fair cheeks,
nor the blue veins line the temples. The eyes lay
heavy under swollen lids, the eyebrows were gone,
and the white of the eyes was tinged with yellow.
All was ruined. The daring curves were lost in heav-
iness. There were many who mourned Marienne
Sinclaire's beauty, now lost. All over Varmland the
people grieved over her lost fairness, her shining
eyes and beautiful hair. Beauty is prized there as
nowhere else, and the people sorrowed as if they
had lost one of the brightest jewels in their crown,
as if the sunniness of life had received a flaw.

But the first man who saw her after she had lost
her beauty did not grieve.

Unutterable feelings filled his soul. The longer
he gazed at her, the happier he grew. His love in-
creased like a river in spring-time, it swelled from
his heart in waves of fire, it filled all his being, it
rose to his eyes in tears, sighed on his lips, shook in
his hands and in all his being.

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 183

Oh, to love her, protect and cherish her! To be
her slave, her guardian!

Love is strong when it has gone through the
fire of pain. He could not talk to Marienne of sepa-
ration and self-sacrifice now. He could not leave
her. He was indebted to her for his life. He would
have committed crimes for her sake.

He could not speak one sensible word, only
wept and kissed her, till the old nurse came to say
it was time he should go.

When he was gone, Marienne lay and thought
of his being so moved. " It is good to be loved like
that," she thought.

Yes, it was good to be loved, but how was it
with herself? What did she feel? Oh, nothing, less
than nothing.

Was her love dead, or what had become of it?
Where had the child of her heart hidden itself?
Did it live, had it crept into the darkest corner of
her heart and lay there freezing under the gaze of
those icy eyes, frightened by that pale, sneering
laugh, half smothered under those hard, knotted
fingers?

"Oh, my love," she sighed, "my heart's child!
Do you live, or are you dead, as dead as my beauty ? '

Next day the great squire, Melchior Sinclaire, went
early to his wife.

1 84 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

"See that everything is put in order again here,
Gustafva," he said; "I am going to bring Mari-
enne home."

"Yes, dear Melchior, I will put it all in order
again," she answered.

And everything was clear between them.

An hour later he was on his way to Ekeby.
There were not many nobler-looking or kindlier
old gentlemen than the great squire, as he sat in
his sledge in his best fur coat and belt. His hair
was smoothly combed, but his face was pale, and his
eyes appeared to have sunk in their sockets.

And there seemed no end to the glory which
streamed from heaven that February morning. The
snow glittered like a girl's eyes when the first notes
of a waltz are being played. The birches stretched
their fine network of red-brown branches over the
sky, and some of them had fingers of small, spar-
kling icictes. There was a glory and holiday glitter
about the day. The horses pranced, lifting high their
forefeet, and the coachman cracked his whip in
pure joy. After a short drive, the sledge drew up
before the great entrance to Ekeby.

A servant came out.

"Where are your masters? " asked the squire.

"They are hunting the great bear on Gurlita
Cliff."

"All of them?"

"All of them, sir. He that has not gone for the

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 185

sake of the bear has certainly gone for the sake of the
provision basket."

Melchior Sinclaire laughed till it echoed in the
empty yard. He gave the servant a daler for his
sharp answer.

"Go and tell my daughter that I have come to
fetch her. She won't freeze, for I have the sledge
cover and a wolf-skin rug to wrap her in."

"Will not the squire please to enter?1

"Thanks. I am well enough here."

The man disappeared, and Melchior began his
waiting. He was in such splendid mood that day,
nothing could anger him. He expected to wait
some time for Marienne, probably she was not up
yet. He must amuse himself by looking about him.

A long icicle hung from the point of the roof,
and the sun gave himself much trouble in melting
it. It began from the top, melted a drop, and wanted
it to run down the icicle and fall to earth, but
before it reached halfway, it froze up afresh, and
the sunshine made another effort and another, but
always failed. At last there came a free-lance of a
little sunbeam, which took possession of the tip of
the icicle — a tiny little sunbeam, which shone and
glittered with eagerness, till at last it gained its
point, and a drop fell with a splash to the ground.

The great land proprietor watched it and laughed.
"That was n't at all so stupid of you," he said to
the sunbeam.

1 86 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

The courtyard was quiet and deserted. Not a
sound was heard from the big house, but the squire
was not impatient. He knew that womenkind need
a long time to get ready.

He looked at the dovecot. There was a wire
over the opening. The birds were shut in for the win-
ter so that the hawks might not get them. Every
now and then a dove came and stuck its white
head through the bars.

"She is waiting for spring," said Sinclaire, "but
she must have patience yet/'

The pigeon came so regularly to the bars that
he took out his watch and timed her. She put out
her head precisely every third minute.

"No, my little friend," he said; "do you think
that spring can be ready in three minutes ? You must
learn to wait."

And he had to wait himself, but he was in no
hurry.

The horses scraped the snow impatiently with
their feet at first, but they soon became drowsy
standing blinking in the sunshine. They leaned
their heads together and went to sleep.

The coachman sat stiffly on his seat, with his
reins and whip in his hand, facing the sun, and
slept — slept so soundly that he snored.

But Melchior Sinclaire was not asleep. He never
felt less like it. He had seldom spent such pleasant
hours as while waiting there for Marienne. She had

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 187

been ill. She could not come before, but she would
come now. Of course she would, and all would be
well again. She would understand now that he was
not angry with her. He had come for her himself
with two horses and a sledge.

Near the opening of the beehive a great titmouse
was engaged upon a perfectly fiendish trick. He
must have his dinner, of course, and he tapped,
therefore, at the opening with his sharp little beak.
Inside the hive the bees hung in a big, dark clus-
ter. Everything within was in the strictest order.
The workers dealt out the rations, and the cup-
bearers ran from mouth to mouth with the nectar
and ambrosia. With a constant creeping movement
those hanging in the middle of the swarm changed
places with those on the outside, so that warmth
and comfort might be equally divided.

They hear the titmouse tapping, and the whole
hive becomes a buzz of curiosity. Is it a friend or
an enemy? Is there danger to the community? The
queen has a bad conscience, she cannot wait in peace
and quietness. Can it be the ghosts of murdered
drones that are tapping out there? "Go and see
what it is," she orders Sister Doorkeeper, and she
goes. With a "Long live the Queen!" she rushes
out and — ha! — the titmouse has got her! With
outstretched neck and wings, trembling with eager-
ness, he catches, kills, and eats her, and no one
carries the tale of her fate to her companions. But

GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

the titmouse continues to tap and the queen to send
forth her doorkeepers, and they all disappear. No
one returns to tell her who is tapping. Ugh! it is
awful to be alone in the dark hive — the spirit of
revenge is there. Oh, to be without ears! If one
only felt no curiosity, if one could only wait in pa-
tience !

Melchior Sinclaire laughed till tears filled his
eyes at the silly womenkind in the beehive and the
sharp, greeny-yellow little rascal outside.

There is no great difficulty in waiting when you
are sure of your object, and when there is so much
to engage your thoughts.

There comes the big yard dog. He steps along
on the tips of his toes, keeps his eyes on the ground,
and wags his tail gently, as if he were on the most
indifferent errand. Suddenly he begins digging in
the snow. The old rascal has certainly buried stolen
goods there; but just as he lifts his head to see if
he can enjoy in peace, he is surprised to see two
magpies sitting right before him.

"You thief!" cry the magpies, looking like con-
science itself, "we are police constables; give up
your booty."

"Silence! you rabble, I am the yard bailiff."

"Just the man," they sneer.

The dog springs at them, and they fly up with
lazy wing. He rushes on, jumping and barking;
but while he hunts one, the other has returned to

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 189

the meat. She pulls and tears at it, but cannot lift
it. The dog snatches it away, places it between his
forepaws, and begins his dinner. The magpies seat
themselves before him, and continue their dispar-
aging remarks. He glances savagely at them, and
when it gets quite too bad, he springs up and chases
them away.

The sun began to sink behind the western hills.
Melchior Sinclaire looked at his watch ; it was three
o'clock, and mother had had dinner ready at twelve.

Just then the servant came out and said Mari-
enne wished to speak to him.

He placed the wolf-skin rug over his arm and
marched up the stairs in the best of humors.

When Marienne heard his heavy step on the
stairs, she did not know whether she would accom-
pany him home or not. She only knew she must put
an end to the waiting. She had hoped the cavaliers
would come home, but they did not. She must then
take matters in hand herself, she could not bear it
any longer. She had imagined he would go his way
in anger after waiting five minutes, or that he would
break the door in, or set fire to the house.

But there he sat, calm and smiling, and waited.
She felt neither love, nor hate toward him; but an
inner voice seemed to warn her against giving her-
self into his power again, and besides, she wished to
keep her word to Gosta.

If he had fallen asleep, if he had spoken or been

190 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

restless or shown a sign of doubt, if he had even
ordered the sledge to stand in the shade — but he
was all patience and certainty — sure, so infectiously
sure, that she would come if he only waited.

Her head ached, every nerve quivered. She could
get no peace while he sat there. It seemed as if his
will were dragging her, bound hand and foot, down-
stairs.

Then she decided to speak to him.

Before he came she made the nurse pull up the
blinds, and she lay so that her face was distinctly
seen. By this she meant to put him to the proof;
but Melchior Sinclaire was a wonderful man that
day.

When he saw her, he made no gesture, no cry of
surprise. It seemed as if he saw no difference in her.
She knew how he had prized her beauty; but he
showed no grief now, and kept control over all his
being so as not to cause her any farther sorrow.
This touched her, and she began to understand how
it was that her mother still loved him. He showed
no sign of hesitation. He came with no reproaches
or excuses.

"I will wrap you in the wolf-skin, Marienne. It
isn't cold, it has been lying on my knee all the
time."

In any case he went forward to the fire and
warmed it. Afterwards he helped her to rise, wrapped
the fur about her, drew a shawl over her head, pulled

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 191

it under her arms, and tied it at the back. She let
him do it. She had no will. It was good to be com-
manded, it was restful to have no will. Best of all
for one so tortured by self-analysis, for one who
owned neither a thought nor a feeling that was her
own!

Melchior Sinclaire lifted her up, carried her down
to the sledge, threw back the cover, placed her be-
side him, and drove away from Ekeby.

She shut her eyes and sighed, half in satisfaction,
half in sadness. She was leaving life, real life, behind
her, but after all, it was a matter of indifference to
her, who could not really live, but only play a part.

A few days later her mother arranged that she
should see Gosta. She sent for him while her hus-
band had gone for a long walk up to the timber
stacks, and took him to Marienne.

Gosta entered the room, but he neither greeted
nor spoke to her. He remained standing at the door,
looking at the floor like an awkward boy.

" But, Gosta! "exclaimed Marienne. She was sit-
ting in her armchair and looked at him half amused.

"Yes, that is my name."

"Come here, come nearer to me, Gosta."

He came forward quietly, but did not lift his
eyes.

"Come nearer, kneel here!'

192 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

" Good God ! what is the use of all this ? " he ex-
claimed, but obeyed.

"Gosta, I wanted to tell you I thought it best to
come home/'

"We will hope that they do not turn Froken
Marienne into the snowdrifts again/'

"Oh, Gosta, don't you love me any more? Do
you think me so ugly?'

He drew her head down and kissed her, but he
was just as cold as before.

She was really amused. If he chose to be jealous
of her parents, what did it matter? It would pass.
It amused her now to win him back. She hardly
knew why she wanted him, but she did. She remem-
bered that he had freed her from herself once at
least; he was probably the only one who could do
it again. And she began to speak eagerly to him.
She said it had not been her intention to desert
him, but they must, for the sake of appearances,
break this engagement for a time. He had seen him-
self that her father was on the verge of madness,
and her mother lived in constant fear of her life.
He must understand that she had been obliged to
return home.

Then his anger found words. She need not pre-
tend. He would no longer be her plaything. She
had jilted him as soon as she found she might re-
turn home, and he could not love her any more. On
the day when he came home from the bear hunt

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 193

and found her gone without a word of farewell, his
blood had stood still in his veins, and he had nearly
died of sorrow. He could not love her after the
pain she had caused him. And she had never really
loved him. She was a coquette who wanted some
one to kiss and caress her here at home too — that
was all.

Did he think, then, she usually let young men
kiss and caress her?

Oh, yes, why not? Women were not so holy as
they looked. They were made up of selfishness and
coquetry. No, if she knew what he had felt when
he came home from the woods and found her gone !
He felt as if he had waded in ice water. He would
never get over that pain. It would follow him all his
life, and he would never be the same again.

She tried to explain to him how it all happened ;
she reminded him that she had been true through
it all.

Yes, but it was all the same, for he did n't love
her any longer. He had seen through her, she was
selfish. She never had loved him, she had left him
without a word.

He constantly returned to this, and she almost
enjoyed the scene, for she could not be angry. She
understood his anger so well, she did not even fear
any real break between them. But at last she grew
anxious. Had such a change really taken place that
he cared no more for her?

194 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"Gosta," she said, "was I selfish when I went to
Sjo for the Major? I remembered very well that the
smallpox was there. Neither is it pleasant to be out
in thin shoes in the cold snow/'

"Love lives by love, and not by service and good
works/' he replied.

"You want us to be strangers in the future?'

"Yes."

"Gosta Berling is very changeable."

"They say so."

He was apathetic, impossible to awaken, and
really she felt herself even colder. Self-analysis sat
and sneered at her attempt to play at being in love.

"Gosta," she pleaded at last, " I have never wil-
fully wronged you, even if it has seemed like it. I
beg you, forgive me!'1

"I cannot forgive you."

She knew that if she had had any whole feeling
about her she could have won him, and she tried
to act a passionate love. The icy eyes mocked her,
but she tried in any case. She did not want to lose
him.

"Don't go, Gosta, don't leave meinanger.Think
how ugly I have become now. No one will love me
again."

"I don't love you either," he answered. "You
must get accustomed to having your heart tram-
pled upon, as others do."

"Gosta, I have never been able to love any one

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 195

but you. Forgive me, and don't leave me. You are
the only one who can save me from myself."

He pushed her aside.

"You are not speaking the truth/' he said, with
icy calm. " I don't know what you want of me, but
I see you are lying. Why would you keep me? You
are so rich, there will always be lovers for you."

So he left her. And as soon as he closed the door,
longing and pain made entrance in all their majesty
into Marienne's heart. It was Love, her heart's one
child, who came forth from the corner where the icy
eyes had hidden him. He, the longed-for one, came
now when it was too late. All-powerful, he took
possession, and longing and pain bore up his kingly
mantle.

When Marienne could with certainty say to her-
self that Gosta Berling had deserted her, she expe-
rienced a purely physical pain, so dreadful that she
nearly lost consciousness. She pressed her hands
against her heart, and sat for hours in the same po-
sition, fighting her tearless grief. And she suffered
— she, herself, not a stranger nor an outsider. She,
herself, suffered it all. Why had her father come
and separated them? Her love had not been dead.
It was only that in the weakness subsequent to her
illness she could not feel its power.

Oh, God, oh, God, to lose him! Oh, God, to have
awakened too late ! He was the only man who had
conquered her heart. She could bear all from him.

196 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Angry words and harshness from him only bowed
her downin humble love. If he struck her, she would
creep to his hand like a dog and kiss it. She did not
know what to do to find alleviation for this dumb
pain.

She caught up a pen and some paper and began
to write. She wrote of her love and her longing, and
she begged not for his love but for mercy. It was
a kind of verse that she wrote. When she finished,
she thought that perhaps if he saw it he might be-
lieve in her love. Why should she not send it to
him? She would send it next day, and she quite
believed that it would bring him back to her.

Next day she went about in mental strife with
herself. What she had written seemed so weak, so
feeble. It had neither rhyme nor metre: it was only
prose. He might laugh at such poetry, and her pride
awoke, too. If he did not love her, it was a great
degradation to beg for his love. Now and again pru-
dence whispered that she ought to be thankful to
have escaped the connection with Gosta Berling and
all the wretched circumstances it would bring in its
train. But the aching of her heart was so great that
her feelings, after all, must have their way.

Three days later she put the verses in an envelope
and wrote Gosta Berling's name upon it. Still they
were not sent. Before she found a suitable messen-
ger, she heard such tales of Gosta Berling that she
felt it was too late to win him back. But it became

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 197

the sorrow of her life that she had not sent the
verses in time to win him. All her pain circled round
that point. "If I had not waited so long; if I had
not let so many days go by." Those written words
would have given her happiness or at least life's
reality. She was certain they would have brought
him back.

Sorrow did for her the same service love would
have done. It moulded her into a whole individu-
ality with a strength of devotion for good or evil.
Strong feelings streamed through her soul, never
again frozen by the spirit of self-analysis. And so,
in spite of her lost beauty, she was greatly loved.
Yet they say she never forgot Gosta Berling. She
mourned him as one mourns over a wasted life.

And her poor verses, which were much read at
one time, have long since been forgotten. Yet they
are very touching, as I look at them, written on yel-
lowed paper in faded ink, in a close, elegant hand-
writing. There is the longing of a whole life bound
up in those poor words, and I copy them with a
mysterious sense of awe, as if some secret strength
lay in them.

I beg you to read and think them over. Who
knows what power they might have had if they had
been sent? They are passionate enough to bear wit-
ness to true feeling. Perhaps they would have
brought him back to her. They are tender and wist-
ful in their awkward formlessness. No one would

198 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

wish them different. No one would wish them bound
in the chains of rhyme and metre, and yet it is sad
to remember that it was perhaps this imperfection
which prevented her sending them in time.

I beg you to read them and to love them. It was
a human heart in great need that inspired them.

" Child, you have loved, but ne'er again
Shall you taste of the pleasure of love.
The storms of passion have shaken your soul;
Be thankful you '/I now be at rest.
Ne'ermore shall you soar to the heights of love;
Be thankful you now are at rest!
Ne'er again shall you sink to the depths of pain —
Ne'er again.

u Child, you have loved, but ne'er again
Will your soul ever burst into flame.
You were filled, like a field of sun-dried grass,
For a moment with burning fire.
Before the clouds of smoke and the burning coal,
Heaven's birds fled forth with frightened screams.
Let them turn again! for never again —
You '// ne' er burn again.

" Child, he is gone —

And with him all love and the pleasures of love —
He whom you had loved, as if he had taught
Your pinions flight in the heavens above,

THE AUCTION AT BJORNE 199

He whom you loved, as if he had given you
The only safe spot in an overwhelmed world.
He is gone — he who alone understood how to open
The door of your heart.

"I would entreat you for one thing, oh, my beloved! —
Lay not on me the burden of hate!

The weakest of all weak things is it not a human heart?
How should it then endure the awful thought
That it is a torment to others?
Oh, my beloved, if you would kill me,
Seek not daggers or poison or rope;

" Let me but know that you would have me turn
From earth's green fields, from the kingdom of life,
And I will sink into my grave.
You gave me the life of life, you gave me love,
But you take your love again. Oh, I know it well,
But turn it not to hate!
Oh, remember — I would still live —
Yet I would die beneath the burden of hate."

The Young Countess

THE young Countess slept till ten o'clock
every morning, and liked to have fresh bread
every day on the breakfast table. The young Count-
ess did tambour work and read poetry; she under-
stood nothing of cooking or weaving. The young
Countess was decidedly spoiled. But she was joy-
ous and let her happiness shine upon everything
and everybody. The long sleep in the morning and
the fresh bread were easily forgiven her, for she was
a spendthrift in doing good to the poor and was
friendly to every one.

Her father was a Swedish nobleman, who had
spent all his life in Italy, kept prisoner there by
the beauty of the country and by one of its beau-
tiful daughters. When Count Henrik Dohna had
travelled in Italy, he had been received in their
home, he had learned to know the daughters, had.
married one of them and brought her back to
Sweden.

She, who had always known Sweden and had
been brought up to love all that was Swedish, was
very happy in the "Bear Country/3 She whirled
along so gaily in the long dance of pleasure that cir-
cled round the Lofven shore, you might imagine
she had always lived there. She understood little of
what it meant to be a countess. There was no state-

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 201

liness, no stiffness, no patronizing air about that gay
young creature.

The old gentlemen were perhaps the most fond
of her. After they had seen her at a ball, you could
be quite certain that every one of them — the Judge
at Munkerud and the Rector of Bro, Melchior Sin-
claire and the Captain at Berga — they all confided
to their wives in the strictest confidence that if they
had met her thirty or forty years ago — !

"Yes, but she certainly had not been born then,"
cried the old ladies. And the next time they met
they teased the young Countess about stealing the
.hearts of the old gentlemen from them.

The old ladies watched her with a certain amount
of anxiety. They remembered so well Countess
Marta. She, too, had been joyous and good and be-
loved when she first came to Borg. And she was now
nothing but a vain coquette, and could think of
nothing butamusement. "If she only had a husband
who would make her do some work," said the old
ladies. " If she would only set up a loom" — for to
weave is a comfort for all sorrow, it absorbs all other
interests, and has been the saving of many a woman.

The young Countess wished very earnestly to be
a good housewife. She knew of nothing better than
to be a happy wife in a happy home, and often dur-
ing one of the big assemblies she came and sat down
among the old ladies.

"Henrik wishes so much that I should become

202 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

a clever manager," she used to say, "as his mother
is. Do teach me how you set up a loom!'

And the old ladies sighed a two-fold sigh — the
first over Count Henrik, who could imagine his
mother to be a good housewife; and the second over
the difficulty of initiating any one so young and
ignorant into such a complicated thing. You had
only to mention skeins and heddles, mounting sin-
gle and double threading, and it all spun round in
her head.

No one who saw the young Countess could
help wondering why she married that stupid Count
Henrik.

He who is stupid is to be pitied, whoever he is,
but he is most to be pitied if he lives in Varmland.
There were already many stories abroad about his
stupidity, and he was only a few years over twenty.
The way he entertained Anna Stjarnhok during a
sleighing party is a specimen.

"You are very beautiful, Anna," he said.

"Nonsense, Henrik!'

"You are the most beautiful girl in all Varm-
land."

" Certainly I 'm not."

"You are, in any case, the loveliest at this sleigh-
ing party."

"Oh, no, Henrik, I'm not."

" Well, you are certainly the best looking in this
sledge. You can't deny that?':

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 203

No, she could not deny that.

For Count Henrik was not handsome. He was
as ugly as he was stupid. They said of him that the
head on his shoulders had been an inheritance in
the family for a few hundred years, therefore the
brain was so worn out in the present possessor. "It
is clear he has no head of his own," they said; "he
has borrowed his father's. He dare not bend it, he
is afraid it might dropoff. He is already quite yellow
and wrinkled; his head has evidently been in use
both in his father's and grandfather's time, other-
wise the hair would not be so thin and his lips so
bloodless and his chin so sharp."

He was constantly surrounded by a crowd of
jokers who tempted him into saying stupid things,
and then they collected them, spread them abroad,
and helped them out.

It was a mercy he noticed nothing. He was dig-
nified and pompous in all he did, he never dreamed
others were different; respectability had taken bod-
ily shape in him — he moved languidly, he walked
stiffly, he never turned his head without his whole
body following it.

One day, some years ago, he had been at Mun-
kerud, at the Judge's. He had ridden there in tall
hat, yellow riding-trousers, and shining boots, sit-
ting stiffly and proudly in his saddle. His arrival
passed off very well, but when he rode away it hap-
pened that one of the overhanging branches in the

204 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

•»

birch alley knocked his hat off. He descended, put
his hat on, and rode away once more under the
same branch. Again the hat was knocked off. This
was repeated four times.

The Judge came out at last, and said, " Suppose
you try riding to the side of the branch next time ! '

And he passed it successfully the fifth time.

And yet, in spite of his ancient head, the young
Countess was fond of him. Of course, when she saw
him in Rome, she did not know he was surrounded
by such a martyr-like halo of stupidity. There had
been something of a youthful glamour over him
then, and they had been married in such very ro-
mantic circumstances. You should have heard her
relate how Count Henrik eloped with her. Monks
and cardinals had been furious that she should de-
sert her mother's religion and become a Protestant.
All the populace were in an uproar, her father's pal-
ace was besieged, and Henrik was pursued by ban-
dits. Her mother and sister prayed her to give up
the marriage, but her father was wild to think the
Italian rabble should dare to try and hinder him from
giving his daughter to whomever he chose. He com-
manded Count Henrik to elope with her, and as
it was impossible for them to be married at home
without it being discovered, she had crept with Hen-
rik along back streets and all kinds of dark passages
to the Swedish Consulate, and when she had ab-
jured her Catholic faith and become a Protestant,

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 205

they were instantly married and came north in a
swiftly travelling coach. " There was no time for any
banns, you see, it was quite impossible," the young
Countess used to say; "and, of course, it wasn't as
nice being married at the Consulate as in one of
the beautiful churches, but Henrik couldn't possi-
bly get me in any other way. They are all so hasty
there — both papa and mamma and the cardinals
and monks, all of them. We were obliged to keep
it secret, and if the people had seen us leave home,
they would certainly have killed us both — just to
save my soul. Henrik's was, of course, lost already."

But the young Countess was fond of her husband
even when they arrived at Borg and lived a quieter
life. She loved the splendor of the old name he
bore and the fame of his adventurous forefathers.
She liked to see how her presence softened him, and
to hear his voice take another tone when she talked
to him. And besides he was fond of her and spoiled
her, and, after all, she was married to him. The young
Countess could not imagine a married woman not
caring for her husband.

In a certain way he answered her ideal of man-
liness. He was just and loved the truth. He had
never broken his promised word. She considered
him a true nobleman.

On the 1 8th of March, the high sheriff, Scharling,

206 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

celebrated his birthday, and there were many who
drove up Broby Hill that day. From east and west,
known and unknown, the invited and uninvited
guests came on that occasion to the official residence.
All were welcome. There was meat and drink for all,
and in the dancing-hall there was room enough for
the dancers from seven parishes.

The young Countess was there too, as she was
everywhere where you could expect dancing and
amusement. But she was not gay when she arrived,
it almost seemed as though she had a presentiment
that it was now her turn to be involved in the wild
wave of adventure.

She sat and watched the setting sun while driving
to the assembly. It sank from a cloudless sky, and
left no golden-edged cloudlets after it. Pale grey
twilight pierced by gusts of chilly wind covered all
the country.

She saw the strife of day and night, and how
everything living seemed to fear,it. Horses hurried
forward the last load to gain their stables as quickly
as possible. The wood-cutters hurried home from
the forest, the dairymaids from the farmyard. Wild
beasts howled in the forest clearing. Day, the beloved
of mankind, was conquered.

Colors faded, the light disappeared. Cold and ug-
liness was all she saw. All she hoped, all she loved,
all she had ever done seemed wrapped in the twi-
light's grey coverlet. It was an hour of weariness,

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 207

depression, and helplessness for her, as it was for
all nature.

She remembered that her heart, which now in
its joy lifted all life into a shimmer of purple and
gold, might lose its strength to raise her world.

"Oh, helplessness, my own heart's helplessness!'3
she said to herself. "Crushing goddess of the twi-
light, one day you will conquer my soul, and I shall
see life ugly and hard, as perhaps it is, and my hair
will whiten then, and my back will bend, and my
mind will grow dull."

At that moment the sledge swung into the court-
yard, and, as she looked up, her eyes fell upon a
barred window in a side wing of the house and
on a grim face looking out of it.

The face was that of the Major's wife at Ekeby,
and the young Countess knew that all her pleasure
was spoiled for that evening.

It is possible to be joyous when you don't know
sorrow and only hear it mentioned as a guest in
another country. It is more difficult to keep the
heart gay when you stand face to face with dark,
cruel trouble.

The Countess knew that the high sheriff had
arrested the Major's wife, and that she was to be
tried for what had taken place at Ekeby on the
night of the ball there; but she had never dreamed
that she would be kept in the official residence, so
near them that they could see her room, so near

208 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

that she could hear the dance music and the sound
of their voices. And the thought of the Major's
wife took all the Countess's pleasure away.

Of course she danced both waltz and quadrille,
minuet and anglaise, but between the dances she
crept to the window and looked across the court-
yard to the side wing. There was a light in the
room there, and she could see Margarita Samzelius
pacing backward and forward. She seemed never to
rest, but to walk to and fro unceasingly.

The Countess found no pleasure in dancing, she
was thinking all the time of the Major's wife pacing
restlessly up and down her prison like a caged beast.
She wondered how the others could dance; there
were many there who must be quite as touched at
the knowledge of their old friend being so near
them as she was, but none of them showed a trace
of it. The Varmlanders are a reserved people.

After each glance through the window, her feet
grew heavier and the laugh caught in her throat.
Schilling's wife saw her at last, as she brushed the
vapor from the window-pane and tried to look out,
and came and whispered to her, "Such a misfor-
tune! Oh, dear, it is such a misfortune!'

"I feel it nearly impossible to dance to-night,"
whispered the Countess.

" It is against my wish we have a ball at all while
she is imprisoned here," answered Fru Scharling.
"She has been in Karlstad since she was arrested,

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 209

She is to be tried very soon, and they brought her
here to-day. We could not put her into the wretched
jail at the courthouse, so she was given the weav-
ing-room in the side wing. She would have been
in my drawing-room, Countess, if all these people
had n't come to-day. You know her so slightly, but
she has been like a mother and queen to us all.
What will she think of us dancing here while she
is in such trouble? It is a mercy that only a few
know she is here/'

"She ought never to have been arrested," said
the Countess, sternly.

" That is true, but there was no other way, unless
worse were to happen. There is no one who would
deny her right to setting her own strawstacks on
fire and turning the cavaliers out of Ekeby, but
the Major is hunting the country for her. God alone
knows what he might have done if she had n't been
arrested! Scharling has had much unpleasantness
for arresting her. Even in Karlstad they were angry
that he had not looked through his fingers at the
doings at Ekeby, but he did what he thought was
best."

"But will she be condemned now?" asked the
Countess.

"Oh, no,Countess, she won't.The Lady of Ekeby
will never be found guilty, but I am afraid it will
all be too much for her. She will go mad. You can
imagine such a proud woman cannot bear being

2io GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

treated like a criminal. I think it would have been
wisest to have let her alone; she would have escaped
him in her own way."

" Let her out/' said the Countess.

"That can be done by others rather than the
sheriffand his wife," whispered Fru Scharling. "We
must guard her — especially to-night, when so many
of her friends are here. Two men keep watch at her
door, and it is barred so that no one can get at her.
But if some one got her away, both Scharling and
I should be so glad."

"Could I see her?" asked the young Countess.

Fru Scharling caught her hand eagerly and led
her out. They threw shawls over their shoulders,
and then crossed the courtyard.

"It is very possible she won't speak to us," said
the sheriff's wife ; " but she will see, at least, that we
have not forgotten her."

They entered the first room in the wing, where
the two men sat at the barred doors, and they were
allowed entrance into the further room. It was a
large chamber full of looms and other work instru-
ments. It was commonly used as a weaving-shed,
but it had a barred window and a strong lock on
the door, and could, in case of necessity, be used
as a jail.

The Major's wife continued her tramp up and
down without paying any attention to them.

She was on a long journey. She remembered noth-

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 211

ing but that she was on her way to her mother,

^^ • •

who was waiting for her in the Alfdal forests. She
had no time to rest; she must cross the hundred
and forty miles that separated them ; she must go
on, and quickly, for her mother was over ninety
years old, and she would be dead soon. She had
measured out the floor into ells, and then counted
up the ells into fathoms, and the fathoms into half-
miles and miles.

The way seems long and weary to her, and yet
she dare not rest. She wades through deep snow-
drifts; she hears the murmur of the everlasting for-
ests as she walks onward. She takes her mid-day
and evening meal, and rests in the huts of the Finns
and the charcoal-burner's shanty. Sometimes, where
there is no human habitation for many, many miles,
she is obliged to gather branches and make a bed
for herself at the root of an overturned pine.

Andat last she reaches her destination — the long
miles are all behind her, the forest opens out, and a
red house stands in a snow-covered yard. The Klar-
alfven rushes along in a series of small rapids, and
by the well-remembered thunder of its waters she
realizes she is at home.

And her mother, who sees her coming like a beg-
gar as she desired, comes to meet her.

When the Major's wife reached this point, she
always looked up, glanced about her, saw the barred
door, and remembered where she was.

212 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Then she wondered if she was not going mad,
and sat down to rest and think. But after a time she
was again on the march, counting the ells and fath-
oms into miles, taking a short rest at the huts along
the way, and sleeping neither day nor night till she
had gone over the hundred and forty miles again.

During the time of her imprisonment she had
hardly ever slept, and the two women who had
come to see her gazed at her anxiously. The young
Countess ever afterwards remembered her as she
looked then. She often dreamed of her, and woke
with tears in her eyes and a cry on her lips.

The old lady was so broken down; her hair was
so thin, and loose ends streamed from the thin plait.
Her face looked weak and hollow, her clothes were
disordered and ragged, but she had still enough of
the old imperiousness of the powerful Lady Boun-
tiful about her so that she did not only inspire pity,
but also respect.

But the young Countess chiefly remembered her
eyes — sunken, retrospective, the light of reason in
them not yet destroyed, but ready to die out — with
a fierce gleam in their depths, so that you feared
she might attack you with biting teeth and with
clawing hands.

They had stood watching her for some time, when
the Major's wife paused before the young Count-
ess and looked at her severely. The Countess took
a step backward, and clutched Fru Scharling's arm.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 213

The old woman's face suddenly awoke to life
and gained expression, and her eyes looked out upon
the world with understanding. "Oh, no! oh, no! '
she said, and smiled ; " it is n't as bad as all that, my
young lady."

She directed them to sit down, and seated her-
self with the air of stateliness belonging to the old
days — to the great assemblies at Ekeby and the
state balls at the Governor's residence at Karlstad.
They forgot the rags and the prison, and saw again
the proudest and richest woman in Varmland.

"My dear Countess," she asked, "what could
have induced you to leave the dancing and visit a
lonely old womanlike me? You must be very good."

Countess Elizabeth could not answer. Her voice
shook too much, and Fru Scharling answered for
her that she could not dance while thinking of the
Major's wife.

"Dear Fru Scharling," she said, "has it gone so
far with me that I spoil the young people's plea-
sure? You must not cry for my sake, my dear little
Countess,"shecontinued." I 'ma wicked old woman
who deserve my fate. You don't think it right to
strike your mother?'

"No, but—"

The Major's wife interrupted her, smoothing the
fair curly hair over her forehead. " Child, child," she
said, "how could you marry that stupid Henrik
Dohna?"

2i4 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"But I love him!"

"I see how it is, I see how it is — a good child
and nothing more, crying with those that weep, and
laughing with those that rejoice, and obliged to say
c Yes' to the first man who says c I love you/ Yes,
yes. Now go in and dance, my dear Countess, dance
and be gay. There is no ill in you."

"But I want to do something for you!1

" Child," she answered, with dignity," there lived
an old woman at Ekeby, who held the winds of
heaven in her hand. Now she is imprisoned and the
winds are free. Is it wonderful that a great storm
rages through the land?

" I am old, and I Ve seen it before. I know it, I
know that God's fearful storm is upon us. Some-
times' it sweeps over the great nations, sometimes
over small forgotten communities. God's storm for-
gets no one: it overwhelms the great and the small.
It is wonderful to see its approach.

" Oh, blessed storm of the Lord, blow over the
earth ! Voices in the air, voices in the water, sound
and terrify ! Make God's storm thunder, and make
it fearful. May its stormy gusts sweep over the earth,
beating against shaking walls, breaking the rusty
locks and the houses that are falling to ruin.

"Terror shall spread over the country. The little
birds' nests shall fall from their hold in the pine
trees, and the hawk's nest shall fall from the fir-top
with a great noise, and even into the owl's nest on

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 215

the mountain ledge shall the wind hiss with its dra-
gon tongues.

"We thought all was well here among us, but it
was not. God's storm was needed. I understand, and
I do not complain. I only wish to go at once to my
mother."

She seemed to sink together suddenly.

"Go now, young woman," she commanded. " I
have no more time; I must go at once. Go now, and
beware of those who ride on the storm clouds ! '

And she returned to her restless walk. Her fea-
tures lost their firmness, her eyes grew vacant. The
Countess and Fru Scharling left her.

As soon as they were again among the dancers,
the Countess went straight to Gosta Berling.

"I bring you a greeting from the Major's wife,
Herr Berling," she said. "She expects you to help
her out of prison."

"Then she must continue to expect it, Count-

ess/

cc

Oh, help her, Herr Berling!'

Gosta gazed sternly before him." No," he replied ;
"why should I help her? What have I to thank her
for? All she has done for me has been my ruin."

"But, Herr Berling—"

"If she had not existed," he said passionately,
"I should now be sleeping in the everlasting for-
est. Must I feel it necessary to risk my life for her,
because she made me an Ekeby cavalier? Do you

216 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

think, Countess, there is any renown to be gained
in that capacity?*

She turned from him without answering, she was
so angry, and%went to her place, thinking bitterly
of the cavaliers. They are all there to-night with
their horns and violins, and they intend to let the
bows fly over the strings till they wear out, and
without giving a thought to the fact that the gay
music must penetrate to the prisoner's miserable
room. They have come there to dance till their
shoes go to dust, and they never think that their
old benefactress can see their shadows swing by on
the dimmed window-panes.

Oh, how ugly and grey the world had become!
What a shadow trouble and harshness were casting
over her soul!

A little later, Gosta Berling came and asked her
to dance.

She refused shortly.

"The young Countess will not dance with me?'
he asked, flushing hotly.

" Neither with you nor any of the Ekeby cava-
liers," she answered.

"We are then not considered worthy of the
honor?"

" It is no honor, Herr Berling ; but I find no plea-
sure in dancing with those who have forgotten all
the precepts of gratitude."

Gosta had already swung round on his heel.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 217

The scene had been witnessed by many, and
every one thought the Countess right. The ingrati-
tude and heartlessness of the cavaliers had awak-
ened universal disapproval.

But in those days Gosta Berling was more dan-
gerous to cross than a wild beast of the forest. Ever
since he came home from bear-hunting and found
Marienne had left Ekeby, his heart was like an open
sore. He had an aching desire to injure some one —
any one — to spread sorrow and misery around him.

"If she desires it, she shall have it," he said to
himself; "but she must not spare her own skin.
The Countess likes elopements, she shall have more
than she likes of them." He had nothing against
an adventure. For eight days he had sorrowed for a
woman's sake. It was enough. He called up Beeren-
creutz, the Colonel, and Kristian Bergh, the Strong
Captain, and trusty Cousin Kristoffer, who never
hesitated at a mad adventure, and held counsel with
them how best to revenge the damaged honor of the
cavaliers.

Soon after this the ball came to an end. A long line
of sledges drove up to the door. The gentlemen put
on their fur coats, the ladies sought their wraps in
the deepest confusion of the dressing-room.

The young Countess hastened to leave that hate-
ful ball, and was ready first. She stood in the mid-

2i 8 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

die of the room, smiling at the excitement round
her, when the door was thrown open and Gosta
Berling crossed the threshold.

No man had the right to enter that room. The
old ladies had their heads uncovered after putting
away their splendid caps, and the younger ladies
had tucked up their skirts so that their frills might
not get crushed on the homeward drive.

But without paying attention to arresting cries,
Gosta Berling strode forward to the Countess, lifted
her in his arms, and rushed out of the room into
the hall and out upon the doorsteps with her.

The cries of the astonished women did not stop
him, and when they reached the hall door, they saw
him throw himself into a sledge with the Countess
still in his arms.

They heard the driver crack his whip and saw the
horse spring forward. They recognized the driver
— it was Beerencreutz, the horse was Don Juan
— and with fear in their hearts for the fate of the
Countess, they called to their husbands.

The men lost no time in questions, but dashed
to the sledges, and with the Count at their head,
they started after the runaways.

Meanwhile Gosta Berling sat in the sledge, hold-
ing the young Countess securely. He had forgotten
all his sorrows, and, wild with the maddening spirit
of adventure, he sang a song of love and roses.

He held her pressed closely to him, but she made

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 219

no attempt to escape. Her face lay, white and stony,
on his breast.

What shall a man do when a pale, helpless face
lies so near him, when he sees the fair hair swept
aside, which usually shadows the shining brow, and
the eyelids lie heavily over the gleam of smiling
grey eyes? What shall a man do when red lips
whiten under the gaze of his eyes?

Why, kiss them, of course — kiss the pale lips,
the closed eyes, and white brows.

But at that the young Countess awoke. She threw
herself aside. She was like a steel wand, and he was
obliged to exert all his strength to prevent her
from throwing herself out, till he forced her at last,
conquered and trembling, into a corner of the
sledge.

"See," he said, quite calmly to Beerencreutz,
"the Countess is the third that Don Juan and I
have carried away this winter; but the other two
hung round my neck with kisses, and she will
neither be kissed by me nor dance with me. Can
you understand these women, Beerencreutz?'

When Gosta had left the courtyard, while the
women were screaming and the men cursing, when
the sleigh-bells rang, and the whips cracked, and
all was shouting and confusion, the men who were
guarding the Major's wife grew frightened.

"What is the matter?" they thought. "Why do
they shout so?'

220 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Suddenly the door was thrown open, and a voice
cried to them, "She is gone. He has carried her
off!"

Out they flew, running like madmen, without
finding out if it was the Major's wife or some one
else who had been carried away. They had good luck
too, and managed to climb into a passing sledge,
and it was a long time before they learned whom
they were trying to overtake.

ButBergh and Cousin KristofFer marched calmly
to the door of the improvised jail, broke the lock,
and opened it for the Major's wife.

"The Lady of Ekeby is free," they said.

She came out. They stood as straight as nine-
pins on each side of the door, but did not meet her
eyes.

" Your horse and sledge await you downstairs."

She went down, seated herself, and drove away.
No one followed her, and no one knew whither she
went.

Down Broby Hill, toward the ice-bound Lofven,
Don Juan rushed. The proud racer flew over the
snow; the frosty air whistled in the faces of the
drivers; the sleigh-bells rang out; the moon and
stars glittered, and the snow lay blue and white,
shining with its own splendor.

Gosta felt his poetic fancy awakened. "Beeren-
creutz," he cried, "this is life. As Don Juan carries
away the young women, so Time carries away the

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 221

individual. You are Necessity steering the course.
I am Desire which tames the will, and so she is car-
ried helpless, ever deeper and deeper downward."

"Don't talk nonsense," growled Beerencreutz ;
"they are after us," — and a whistling cut of the
whip urged Don Juan to still greater speed.

"There are the wolves, here is the booty," cried
Gosta. "Don Juan, my boy, imagine yourself a
young elk. Break your way through the ensnaring
bushes, wade through the marsh. Leap from the
crest of the hill range into the clear lake, swim over
with proudly lifted head, and vanish, vanish into
the dense darkness of the firwood. Run, Don Juan,
run like a young elk!"

Joy filled his wild heart at the speed. The shouts
of his pursuers were songs of exultation. Joy filled
his wild heart when he felt the Countess shake with
fear, and heard her teeth chattering.

Suddenly he loosened the iron grasp in which he
had held her. He stood upright in the sledge, and
swung his cap.

"I am Gosta Berling," he shouted, "the lord
of ten thousand kisses and thirteen thousand love-
letters. Hurrah for Gosta Berling! Catch him who
can!"

And the next moment he was whispering to the
Countess, "Isn't the speed fine? Isn't our drive
royal? Beyond Lofven lies Vanern, beyond Vanern
lies the sea — endless stretches of clear, blue-black

222 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

ice, and beyond it all a shining world. Rolling thun-
der in the freezing ice, shrill shouts behind us,
shooting stars in the heavens, and ringing sleigh-
bells before us! Forward — forever forward ! Now,
do you wish to make trial of such a journey, Count-
ess?'3

He had freed her, and she pushed him aside vio-
lently.

The next moment found him on his knees at her
feet.

" I am a wretch, a miserable wretch. You should
not have angered me. You stood there so proud
and pure, and never dreamed that a cavalier's fist
could reach you. You are loved by heaven and earth ;
you should not increase the burden of those whom
heaven and earth despise."

He snatched her hands, and pressed them to his
face.

" If you but knew," he pleaded, "what it meant
to know yourself an outcast ! You don't care what
you do — you never care."

Just then he noticed that her hands were uncov-
ered. He drew a pair of large fur gloves out of his
pockets, and put them on for her.

And with that he became quite calm. He seated
himself in the sledge as far as possible from the
Countess.

"It isn't worth while being frightened, Count-
ess," he said. "Don't you see where we are driv-

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 223

ing to? You can surely understand that we never
intended to do you any harm!'

She had been nearly out of her senses with fear,
and only noticed now that they had crossed the
river, and Don Juan was drawing them up the steep
hill to Borg.

They pulled up before the steps, and allowed
the Countess to alight at her own door; but as soon
as she was surrounded by protecting servants, she
regained her courage and presence of mind.

"Take charge of the horse/' she commanded the
coachman. "These gentlemen who have driven me
home will surely come in for a few moments. The
Count will be here directly."

"As the Countess desires," replied Gosta, and
stepped immediately out of the sledge, and Beeren-
creutz, too, threw the reins asidewithout a moment's
hesitation. But the young Countess preceded them,
and showed them, with hardly concealed exultation,
into the salon.

She had probably expected they would hesitate
to accept her proposal to await her husband's return.
Of course, they could not know what a stern and
just man he was. They did not seem to fear the
judgment he would mete out to them for having
so violently laid hold of her and compelled her to
take that drive. She wished to hear him forbid them
ever to set foot in her house again.

She wanted to see him call in the servants and

224 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

point out the cavaliers as men who were never again
to be admitted within the doors of Borg. She wished
to hear him express his scorn, not only for the way
they had treated her, but also for their ingratitude
toward the Major's wife, their benefactress.

Yes, he, who to her was all tenderness and con-
sideration, would rise in just wrath against her cap-
tors. Love would lend fire to his words. He who
protected and cared for her as for a being of another
world, he would never allow rough men to descend
upon her like hawks upon a sparrow. The little
woman glowed from head to foot with the desire for
revenge. Her husband would help her in her help-
lessness and drive away all the dark shadows.

But Beerencreutz, the Colonel, with the thick
white moustache, strode unconcernedly into the
dining-room and walked up to the fire, which was
always burning there when the Countess was ex-
pected home from a ball.

Gosta remained in the darkness near the door,
and silently watched the Countess while the ser-
vants relieved her of her outer garments. As he sat
looking at her, he rejoiced as he had not done for
many years. It was so clear to him — as certain as if
it had been revealed to him — that within her dwelt
the most beautiful soul. It lay bound and sleeping
yet, but it would awaken. He rejoiced greatly at
having discovered all the purity and the goodness
and the innocence that lay hidden within her. He

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 225

could almost have laughed at her standing there
looking so angry, with burning cheeks and frown-
ing eyebrows.

"You don't know how good and sweet you are,"
he thought. That side of her character which in-
clined toward the world of the senses would never
do her real self justice. But from that hour, Gosta
Berling was compelled to be her servant, as one
serves all that is beautiful and godly. Yes, it was no
good regretting that he had treated her so roughly.
If she had not been so frightened, if she had not
pushed him aside so wildly, if he had not felt that
all her being was shuddering at his coarseness, he
would never have known, never have guessed, what
a noble and sensitive spirit dwelt within her.

He never had believed it before. She had only
cared for dancingand amusement, and she had found
it possible to marry that stupid Count Henrik.

Yes, now he would be her slave till death —
"dog and slave," as Captain Kristian used to say,
"and nothing more."

Gosta Berling sat near the door with folded hands,
and held a kind of adoration service. Since the day
he had felt the fire of inspiration touch him, he
had never experienced such blessedness in his soul.
Though Count Henrik came into the room with
a crowd of men, all swearing and lamenting over
the cavaliers' many pranks, it did not distract him.
He let Beerencreutz meet the storm, and he, the

226 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

man of many adventures, stood calmly at the fire-
place with his foot on the bars and his elbow on his
knee, and gazed at the storming crowd.

"What is the meaning of this?" the little Count
screamed.

"It means," Beerencreutz replied, "that as long
as there remains womankind on earth, there will
always be fools to dance to their piping!'

The young Count grew very red in the face.

"I ask what this means!*' he repeated.

" I also ask," mocked Beerencreutz, " I ask what
it means when Henrik Dohna's Countess refuses
to dance with Gosta Berling!'

The Count turned questioningly to his wife.

"I could not, Henrik," she cried; " I could not
dance with him or any of them. I thought of the
Major's wife whom they were allowing to die in
prison."

The little Count straightened his stiff body and
stretched out his old-fashioned head.

"We cavaliers," continued Beerencreutz, "allow
no one to insult us. She that will not dance with us
must drive with us. The Countess has received no
harm, and that can be the end of the matter."

"No," said the Count, "that can't end the mat-
ter. I am answerable for my wife's doings. I desire
to know why Gosta Berling did not apply to me
when my wife insulted him/

Beerencreutz smiled.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 227

"I desire to know," repeated the Count.

" One does not ask leave of the fox to take his
skin," said Beerencreutz.

The Count laid his hand on his narrow chest.

" I have the reputation of being a just man," he
cried. "I judge my servants, why cannot I judge
my wife? You cavaliers have no right to judge her.
The punishment you meted out to her, I put aside.
It has never taken place, gentlemen, it has never
taken place."

Count Henrik shrieked out the words in the high-
est falsetto. Beerencreutz sent a rapid glance over
the company. There was not one of them — Sintram
and Daniel Bendixand Dahlberg, and whoever they
all were who had followed them in — who was not
grinning at the way he was outwitting the stupid
young Count.

The Countess did not understand at first. What
was it that had never taken place? Her fear, the
hard grip of the cavaliers* hands upon her, the wild
songs, the wild words and kisses, were they all to
be brushed aside? Was there nothing in this even-
ing's events that was not influenced by the grey
goddess of twilight?

"But, Henrik— "

"Silence!" he said, straightening himself to pass
sentence upon her! "Woe to you, a woman, who
have wished to be a judge over men. Woe to you,
my wife, who have dared to insult a man whose hand

228 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

I press in friendship ! What affair is it of yours that
the cavaliers put the Major's wife in prison? Have
they not the right? You can never know how a man
is angered to the depths of his soul when he hears
of a woman's infidelity. Are you also going to tread
the downward path, that you take her part?'

"But, Henrik— "

She cried out like a child, and stretched out her
arms as if to ward off the cruel words. Probably she
had never heard such anger directed against herself.
She was so helpless among all those hard men ; and
now her only defender turned against her. Her
heart would never again have strength to illumine
the world.

" But, Henrik, it is you who should defend me ! '

Gosta Berling was attentive now, when it was too
late. He did n't in the least know what to do. He
wished her well, but he dared not thrust himself
between husband and wife.

Where is Gosta Berling?" asked the Count.
Here," replied Gosta, and he made a well-meant
attempt to laugh the matter aside ; " the Count was
probably on the point of making a speech, and I fell
asleep. What do you say to our going home now
and leaving you to get to bed?'

" Gosta Berling, as my wife refused to dance with
you, I command her to beg your pardon and to
kiss your hand."

"My dear Count Henrik," said Gosta, smilingly,

cc

(C

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 229

" my hand is n't suitable for any young lady to kiss.
Yesterday it was red from the blood of an elk; to-
night it was black with soot after a fight with a coal-
heaver. The Count has passed a noble and high-
minded sentence — that is sufficient. Come, Beeren-
creutz."

The Count placed himself in his way.

" Stay," he said, " my wife must obey. I desire her
to know what it is to act on her own responsibility."

Gosta looked helpless. The Countess was quite
pale, but she did not move.

"Go!" said the Count.

"Henrik— I can't."

"You can," he answered, sternly; "you can, but
I know what you want. You want to force me to
fight the man, because you are capricious and don't
like him. Well, if you won't give him satisfaction, I
must. You women are always delighted when men
are killed for your sake. You are in fault, but you
will not make amends for it. I must therefore do it.
I am obliged to fight a duel, my Countess, and in
a few hours I shall be a bloody corpse."

She gave him a long look, and she saw him as
he was, stupid, cowardly, inflated with pride and
vanity, the most pitiable of men.

"Calm yourself," she said, and she was now cold
as ice; " I will do it."

But now Gosta Berling seemed out of his mind.

"Countess, you shall not, never, never! You are

230 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

only a child, a weak, innocent child, and you — to
kiss my hand! You have such a white and pure
soul. I will never again come near you, never again !
I bring death and desolation and destruction over
all the good and innocent. You shall not touch me !
I shrink from you as fire from water, you shall not
touch me!'

He put his hands behind his back.

"It is nothing to me now, Herr Berling. It is
nothing at all now. I beg your pardon, and I beg
you to let me kiss your hand!'

Gosta still kept his hands behind his back. He
considered the situation and moved nearer the door.

" If you will not receive the satisfaction my wife of-
fers you, I must fight you, Gosta Berling, and I must
also deal to her another and severer punishment."

The Countess shrugged her shoulders. "He is
crazy with fear," she whispered; "let me do as he
commands. What does it matter if I am humiliated ?
It is what you wished from the first."

"Did I wish it? Do you believe I wished that?
Well, if I have no hands to kiss, you must then
believe I never meant it," he cried.

He sprang to the fire and plunged his hands in.
The flames wrapped round them, the skin crinkled,
the nails cracked, but Beerencreutz caught him by
the back of the neck at the same moment and flung
him out upon the floor. He stumbled against a chair
and remained sitting. He was almost ashamed now

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 231

of doing such a thing. Would she think he had done
it for effect? To do it before a roomful of people
must seem as if it were done for effect. There had n't
been the least danger in it.

Before he could think of rising, the Countess
was on her knees beside him. She caught hold of
the reddened, sooted hands, and looked at them.
"I will kiss them — kiss them," she cried, "as
soon as they are not too tender and painful." And
the tears poured from her eyes as she saw the blisters
rising under the burned skin-
Thus he became to her the realization of an un-
known nobility. That such things could still happen
in the world! That it had been done for her sake!
What a man he was, able to do all, as mighty in
good as in evil, a man of great achievements, a man
of strong words and brilliant deeds ! AJiero, a hero !
Created different, of different clay from other men !
The slave of a caprice, of the desire of a moment,
wild and fearful, but the possessor of a furious
strength, fearing nothing.

She had been so oppressed all the evening, and
had seen only sorrow and cruelty and cowardliness
about her. Now all was forgotten. The Countess was
again happy in living. The goddess of twilight had
been conquered, and light and color again clothed
the world.

• ••••••••

On the same night the cavaliers were shouting and

232 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

swearing in the cavaliers' wing at GostaBerling. The
old gentlemen wished to go to sleep, but it was im-
possible. He gave them no peace. It was in vain
they put out the lights and drew their bed-curtains ;
he continued talking.

He told them first what an angel the young
Countess was, and how much he worshipped her.
He would serve and adore her. He was happy in the
knowledge that every one had forsaken him. He
would now devote his life to her service. She scorned
him, naturally, but he would be content to lie at her
feet like a dog.

Had they ever noticed Low Island in the Lof-
ven ? H ad they seen it from the south, where the rug-
ged cliff raised itself abruptly from the water? Had
they seen it from the north, where it sank into the
lake in gentle slope, and where the narrow sand-
banks, covered with tall, beautiful pines, wound out
into the shallow water and formed lovely little lakes ?
There, on the precipitous height where the remains
of an old castle were still standing, he would build
a palace for the young Countess — a marble pal-
ace. Wide stairs would be hewn in the rock lead-
ing down to the lake, where gaily flagged boats
would land. There would be shining halls and high
towers with gilded pinnacles. It would be a suitable
home for the young Countess. That old wooden
hovel at Borg Point was not worthy she should set
her foot in it.

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 233

When he had gone on like this for some time,
a snore now and then penetrated the yellow-striped
curtains, but most of the cavaliers swore and railed
over him and his mad ideas.

" Fellow-men," he continued, solemnly, " I see
God's world covered with men's handiwork or re-
mains of their handiwork. The pyramids weigh
down the earth, the Tower of Babel pierces the sky,
beautiful temples and grey castles have been raised
from the dust. But of all that has been built by
hands, what has not fallen to ruin or will fall? Oh,
fellow-men, throw aside the bricklayer's trowel and
mortar-board! Spread your apron over your head
and lie down and build fair dream castles ! What
has the spirit to do with temples of clay and stone?

Learn to build everlasting castles of dreams and

• • i »

visions !

And thereupon he went off laughing to bed.

When soon afterwards the Countess heard that
the Major's wife had been set at liberty by the cav-
aliers, she gave a dinner party in their honor, and
her long friendship with Gosta Berling dated from
that time.

(jhost Stories

OH, children of a later day ! I have nothing new
to tell you; nothing but what is old and al-
most forgotten. Tales from the nursery, where the
children sit on low stools round the white-haired
story-teller, tales from the workmen's kitchen,
where the farm laborers and crofters gather about
the pine-wood fire. From the leather sheaths hang-
ing round their necks they draw their knives and
butter themselves thick slices of soft bread, as they
sit about and chat, while the steam rises in clouds
from their wet clothing. And I have tales from the
sitting-room, where old gentlemen sit in their rock-
ing-chairs and, inspired by a glass of steaming
toddy, talk of the days that are past and gone.

And listening to these stories, a child, standing
at the window on a wintry night, would see, instead
of the clouds, cavaliers sweep over the sky in their
light shays ; to her the stars were waxen lights shin-
ing from the old mansion on Borg Point, and the
spinning-wheel which hummed in the next room
was turned by old Ulrika Dillner, for the child's
head was full of these men and women of the olden
days, and she lived and dreamed among them.

And if you send her, whose whole soul is filled
with those old stories, through the dark garret to
the pantry beyond, to fetch flax or some crackers,

GHOST STORIES 235

what a rush of little feet, what a hurried dash is
made down the stairs, over the entry, and into the
kitchen ! For in the dark upstairs, she has remem-
bered the stories told of the wicked Sintram, the
owner of the iron works at Fors, he who was in
league with the devil.

The bones of Sintram are at rest long years ago
in Svartsjo churchyard, but no one believes his soul
is with God, as is written on his tombstone.

As long as he lived, he was one of those men to
whose house on long, rainy Sunday afternoons there
came a heavy calash drawn by four black horses. A
darkly clad, elegant gentleman descended and went
in to help the master of the house while away with
cards and dice the dreary monotony of the hours
which were his despair. Those card parties were
kept up till after midnight, and when the stranger
drove away at dawn, he always left behind him some
gift which carried misfortune with it.

Yes, as long as Sintram lived, he was one of those
whose coming was heralded by unseen powers. One
of those whose shade went before them, their car-
riages rolled into your courtyard, whips cracked,
their voices were heard on the steps, the hall door
opened and shut, the dogs were roused at the loud
noise they made, and yet there was no one, nothing
to be seen, it was only the apparition which always
preceded them.

Ugh, those fearful people whom the wicked spir-

236 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

its seek! What was that big black hound seen at
Fors in Sintram's time? It had awful gleaming
teeth and a long tongue, dripping with blood, hang-
ing out of its panting mouth ! Once when the farm
men were in the kitchen having dinner, it came and
scratched at the kitchen door. All the servant girls
screamed with fright, but one of the biggest and
strongest of the men caught up a burning log from
the hearth, opened the door, and thrust it down the
dog's throat.

It had rushed away, howling horribly, flames and
smoke pouring out of its mouth; sparks whirled
about it, and its footsteps on the road shone like
fire.

And was it not awful, too, that although Sintram
drove away upon his journeys with his black horses,
horses never brought him home again. When he
returned at night, black bulls drew his carriage.
People living by the roadside saw their long black
horns outlined against the sky, heard their bellow-
ing, and were terrified at the shower of sparks struck
out by their hoofs and the carriage wheels on the
dry gravel.

Yes, there was ample cause for the scurrying of
small feet over the wide floors of the garret. Ima-
gine if something dreadful, if he whose name it was
best not to mention were to come out of the dark
corner ! You could not feel sure he would not do it.
It was not only to the wicked he showed himself.

GHOST STORIES 237

Had not Ulrika Dillner seen him? Yes, both she
and Anna Stjarnhok could tell you about it.

Friends, children of men! You who dance and you
who laugh, I pray you that you dance carefully
and laugh kindly, for much sorrow may come to pass
if your thin-soled, silken shoe treads upon a ten-
der human heart instead of the hard floor planks,
and your gay, silver-ringing laugh may drive a soul
to despair.

It must have been that the young people had
trampled too hard upon old Ulrika Dillner; their
laughter must have sounded too overbearing in her
ears, for suddenly there came over her a great and
irresistible longing for the title and dignity belong-
ing to a married woman. She said "Yes' to Sin-
tram's long courtship, married him, and took her
place at Fors as his wife, leaving her old friends at
Berga, the old work she was accustomed to, and the
old struggle for daily bread.

It was a hastily arranged wedding; Sintram pro-
posed at Christmas, and they were married in Feb-
ruary. Anna Stjarnhok was to spend the winter with
the Ugglas and more than filled Ulrika's place,
thus leaving her free to go forth and win for her-
self the title of Fru.

Her conscience had nothing to reproach her with,
yet she regretted the step she had taken. It was

238 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

anything but a comfortable home she had come to;
the big empty rooms were full of a mysterious ter-
ror. As soon as it grew dark, she began to be afraid
and to shudder. She almost died of homesick-
ness. The long Sunday afternoons were the worst —
there seemed no end to them, nor to the train of
painful thoughts which passed slowly through her
mind.

And so it happened, one Sunday in March, when
Sintram had not returned home after church, she
went upstairs into the salon and sat down at her
harpsichord. It was her only comfort. The old harp-
sichord, with a piper and shepherdess painted on
its white cover, was her own property, inherited
from her parents* home. She could tell it all her
grief, and it would understand.

But isn't it both pitiful and ridiculous? Can you
guess what she played? A polka — when she was in
such great distress!

Oh, she knew nothing else. Before her fingers
stiffened round the dusting switch and the carver,
she had learned this one polka, and her fingers
remembered it still. She knew no funeral march
nor passionate sonata — not even a mournful folk-
song— nothing but that polka.

And she played it whenever she had anything
to confide to the old clavier; when she could have
wept, and when she wished to laugh. She played it at
her own wedding, when she came to her new home,

GHOST STORIES 239

and she played it now. The old strings understood
her well enough — she was wretched — wretched.

A passer-by, hearing the sound of the polka,
might have thought that Sintram was giving a ball
to his neighbors and friends — it was such an ex-
traordinarily cheery and lively air. In the old days
it rang gaiety in and hunger out of Berga, and all
were ready to dance when it sounded. Rheumatic
muscles burst their bonds, and its gay strains had
tempted eighty-year-old cavaliers to try the polka.
All the world would have danced to that polka,
but old Ulrika wept.

She had surly, ill-tempered servants and savage
animals around her ; she longed for kind and smiling
faces, and the polka must express her great longing.

People found it difficult to remember that she
was Fru Sintram. They still called her Mamsell
Dillner, and the polka expressed her sorrow over
the vanity which had tempted her to run after the
dignity accorded to a married woman.

She played as if she meant to break the strings
of the harpsichord; there was so much she must
drown in its tones — the cries of the ill-used peas-
antry, the curses of the crofters, the taunting laugh-
ter of defiant servants, and, worst of all, the shame
— the shame of being a bad man's wife.

To that same tune Gosta Berling had led out
young Countess Dohna to the dance, Marienne Sin-
claire and her many admirers had danced to it, and

240 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

even the Lady of Ekeby had kept time to it in the
days when handsome Altringer lived. She saw them,
couple after couple, united by youth and beauty,
as they whirled before her, and a stream of gaiety
passed from her to them and back to her. It was
her polka which made their cheeks burn and their
eyes shine like that. She was far from it all now, but
the polka still rang out; there were so many happy
memories to drown!

She played, too, to deaden her fear. Her heart
grew faint with fright when she saw the black
hound, or heard the servants whisper about the
black bulls — and she played the polka, over and
over again, to deaden that fear.

Presently she noticed that her husband had re-
turned. She heard him come into the room and sit
down in the rocking-chair. She recognized his way
of rocking and the noise made by the rockers scrap-
ing against the deal floor so well that she did not
turn toward him.

And still, as she played, the rocking continued
till it drowned all the sounds of her polka.

Poor old Ulrika, so wearied, so helpless and
lonely, alone in the enemies' country, without a
friend to complain to, with no better companion
than an old harpsichord which answered her grief
with a polka!

It was like a laugh at a funeral or a drinking
song in church. And while the chair still rocked

GHOST STORIES 241

behind her, it suddenly seemed to her that her
harpsichord was laughing at her, and she stopped
abruptly in the middle of a bar. She got up and
glanced behind her. A moment later she was lying
unconscious on the floor. It was not her husband
sitting there — but another — he whose name it is
best for children not to mention, who would frighten
them to death if they met him in the dark garret.

Ah, if your soul has been satiated with such stories
as these, is it possible to free yourself from their
power? To-night the wind is howling outside, and
a fecus palm and a rosebush are beating their stiff
leaves against the balcony pillars — the sky hangs
darkly over the far-reaching hills, and I, sitting
here, with my lamp lighted and my curtains drawn
aside, I, already growing old and therefore bound
to be sensible, still feel the same creepiness upon
my spine as when I heard the story; I am com-
pelled to raise my eyes from my work and glance
round repeatedly to see that no one has stolen into
the room and is hiding in that corner; I must glance
into the balcony to be sure that no black head raises
itself over the railing. This fear, fostered by the old
ghost stories, never leaves me, and, when the nights
are dark and I am alone, it grows so overwhelming
that I must cast aside my pen, creep into bed, and
draw the blankets over my head.

242 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

It was the great secret wonder of my childhood
that Ulrika Dillner lived through that afternoon.
I could not have done it.

It was fortunate that Anna Stjarnhok drove up
to the house about that time! She found Ulrika
lying on the floor in the salon and brought her back
to consciousness. I should not have been so easy to
bring back to life. I should have been dead.

I hope, dear friends, that you will never see the
tears of the aged, and that you may never stand
helpless when a grey head leans against your breast
to find support, and old hands are clasped upon
yours in silent prayer. May you never see the aged
sink in sorrow which you cannot lighten. For what is
the grief of youth Pit has still strength and hope, but
how terrible it is to see the old weep — what despair
you feel when they, who have been the support of
your young life, sink down in helpless misery.

Anna Stjarnhok sat and listened to old Ulrika,
and she saw no way of helping her. The old woman
cried and trembled, her eyes were wild — she ram-
bled on and talked incoherently, almost as if she
no longer remembered where she was. The thou-
sand wrinkles which covered her face were twice as
deep as usual, the false curls which hung round her
face were uncurled and disordered by her tears, and
the long, thin figure shook with sobs.

At last Anna felt she must put a stop to it. She
had decided what she would do. She would take

GHOST STORIES 243

Ulrika back to Berga. Although she was undoubt-
edly Sintram's wife, she could not remain at Fors.
She would go mad if she remained with him. Anna
decided to take her away.

How frightened and yet how delighted Ulrika
was with this decision!

But oh, no, she certainly would not dare to leave
her husband and her home. He might, perhaps,
send the black dog after her.

But Anna conquered, partly by deception, partly
by threats; and in half an hour she had her in the
sledge beside her. Anna drove herself, and old Disa
was in the shafts ; the roads were bad, for it was late
in March, but it did Ulrika good to be sitting again
in the well-known sledge, behind the horse which
had served Berga as faithfully and as long as she
herself had done.

Being of a cheerful temperament and a dauntless
mind, this old household drudge stopped crying
by the time they passed Arvidstorp; at Hogberg
she was already laughing, while at Munkerud she
was telling Anna her experiences in her youth with
the Countess at Svaneholm.

They turned into the lonely deserted district be-
yond Munkeby. The road climbed every height it
could possibly reach, it crept to the top in lengthy
curves, leaped down in steep descent, and then
rushed as rapidly as possible over the level valley
to climb the nearest height again.

244 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

They were just about to drive down the hill at
Vestratorp when old Ulrika paused suddenly in her
talk and caught Anna by the arm. She was staring
at a big black dog on the roadside.

"Look!J> she cried.

The dog turned and set off into the woods. Anna
did not see him very clearly.

" Drive ! " cried Ulrika ; " drive as quickly as you
can. Sintram will hear directly that I am gone."

Anna tried to laugh her out of her fancy, but it
was impossible.

"We shall hear his sleigh-bells directly, you'll
see. We shall hear them before we reach the top
of the next hill."

And while old Disa took a breath on the top of
Elofsbacke they heard sleigh-bells below them.

Old Ulrika grew quite wild with fear. She trem-
bled, sobbed, and wailed as she had done in the
salon at Fors. Anna tried to whip up old Disa, but
the horse only turned its head and gave her a look
of the profoundest astonishment. Did she imagine
old Disa did not know the right time to trot and
when to walk? Was she going to teach her to pull
the sledge, teach her, who knew every stone, every
bridge and gate, and every hillock on the road for
the last twenty years?

And the sleigh-bells sounded nearer.

"It is he — it is he — I know his bells," wailed
Ulrika.

GHOST STORIES 245

Thesound still approached. Sometimes it seemed
so loud that Anna turned her head, expecting to
see the head of Sintram's horse just behind their
sledge — sometimes it died away. Now they heard
it on the right, now on the left of the road, but they
saw no one. It seemed as though the sleigh-bells
followed them.

And just as such bells rang in melodies, sang,
talked, and answered when you returned at night
from a ball, so they sang and talked and answered
now. The whole forest echoed with their tune.

Anna Stjarnhok began to wish something would
appear — to see Sintram and his red horse. That
dreadful bell-ringing began to unnerve her.

She was not afraid, she had never been afraid, but
those sleigh-bells distracted and tortured her.

" Those sleigh-bells torment me/' she said at last,
and immediately the words were caught up by the
bells." Torment me," they rang; "torment, torment,
torment me," they sang in every possible tone.

It was not long since she had driven over this
same road hunted by wolves. In the darkness she
had seen white teeth glance in gaping mouths, she
had expected her body to be torn to pieces by
the savage brutes, but she had not been afraid. She
had never lived through a more glorious night.
Strong and beautiful the horse had been that car-
ried her, strong and beautiful, too, was the man who
had shared the joy of adventure with her.

246 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

Oh, this old horse and this helpless, trembling
comrade! She felt herself so helpless, too, she could
have wept. It was impossible to escape from that
dreadful, irritating ringing.

She drew up and got out of the sledge. There
must be an end to it; why should she flee, as if she
were afraid of the wicked, contemptible wretch?

At last she saw a horse's head appear out of the
gathering twilight, then a whole horse, a sledge, and
in the sledge sat — Sintram.

She noticed, however, that it did not appear as
if it had come along the road, this sledge with horse
and master, but seemed as if it had been created
under her eyes, and appeared just as it was finished.

Anna threw the reins to Ulrika and went to meet
Sintram.

He pulled up his horse.

"See, see," he cried, "what exceptional luck I
have! Dear Froken Stjarnhok, may I hand over
my companion into your sledge? He is going to
Berga this evening, and I am in a hurry to be at
home."

"Where is your companion?" asked Anna.

Sintram threwopen the sledge cover, and showed
Anna a man sleeping at the bottom of the sledge.
"He is a little tipsy," he said, "but it won't mat-
ter. He is sure to sleep soundly. Any way he is an
acquaintance of yours, Froken Stjarnhok — it is
Gosta Berling."

GHOST STORIES 247

Anna started.

"Yes, I may say," continued Sintram, "that she
who gives up her beloved sells him to the devil.
That was the way I got into his claws. One thinks
one is going to do so much good; sacrifice is a
good thing, but love, that is evil."

"What do you mean? What are you talking
about?" Anna asked, shaken with feeling.

" I mean that you shouldn't have let Gosta Ber-
ling give you up, Froken Anna!'

"It was God's will — "

"Yes, yes, of course, to sacrifice one's self is right,
to love is wrong. The good Lord does not like to
see people happy. He sends wolves after them; but
what if it wasn't God's doing, Froken Anna? Sup-
pose it was I who called my nice grey lambs from
Dovrefjall to chase that young man and woman?
Suppose I sent them because I feared to lose one
of my elect? Suppose it wasn't God who did it?'

"You must not tempt me to doubt on that point,
Herr Sintram," said Anna, in a weak voice, "or I
am lost."

" See here," said he, leaning over the sleeping man,
"look at his little finger. That tiny cut never heals.
The blood was drawn from there when he signed
the contract. He is mine. There is a peculiar power
in blood. He is mine — it is only love that can free
him . . . but if I keep him, he will be a fine fellow."

Anna Stjarnhok fought against the enchantment

248 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

which seemed to beenvelopingher. It was stupidity,
rank stupidity, no one could sign away his soul to
the devil ; but she had no control over her thoughts,
the twilight hung so heavily over her, the forest
round about was so dark and quiet. She could not
escape the hour's mysterious dread creeping over
her.

"Perhaps you think," continued Sintram," there
isn't much to be destroyed in him? But there is.
Has he ever ground down the peasants or deceived
his poor friends or played falsely? Has he been
the lover of married women ? '

"I shall believe you are the devil himself, Herr
Sintram ! '

"Let us exchange, Froken Anna — you take
Gosta Berling, take him and marry him. Take him
and give your friends at Berga money. I give him
up to you — and, you know, he is mine. Remember
it was n't God who sent the wolves after you that
night, and let us exchange!'

"And what will you take in his place?'

Sintram grinned.

" I, what will I have? Oh, I shall be satisfied with
little. I only ask for that old woman in your sledge,
Froken Anna."

"Satan — tempter," Anna cried, "leave me! Am
I to fail an old friend who depends upon me ? Am I
to leave her to you, that you may drive her to mad-
ness?"

GHOST STORIES 249

"See, see, be calm, Froken Anna ! Think it over!
There is a fine young man and there an old worn-
out woman. One of them I must have. Which shall
it be?"

Anna Stjarnhok laughed despairingly.

" Do you think we can stand here and exchange
souls as one exchanges horses at Broby market-
place?"

"Yes, just so — but if you wish, Froken Anna,
we will arrange it in another way. We must remem-
ber the Stjarnhok honor."

And he suddenly began to call and shout to his
wife, who was sitting alone some distance ahead in
the other sledge, and to Anna's unspeakable horror,
she obeyed him at once, stepped out of the sledge,
and came trembling toward them.

" See, see," said Sintram, " what an obedient wife !
Froken Stjarnhok has nothing to do with it if she
comes when her husband calls. Now I will lift Gosta
out of my sledge and leave him here on the road.
Leave him forever, Froken Anna, — and who likes
may take him up."

He bent down to take the sleeping figure, but
Anna, bending down and looking directly into his
eyes, hissed out like a tortured animal —

"In God's name, go home at once! Don't you
know who is sitting in the rocking-chair and wait-
ing for you? Dare you let that gentleman wait?'

It was to Anna almost the most terrible of that

250 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

day's dreadful occurrences to see the effect of those
words. Sintram clutched at his reins, turned, and
drove homeward, lashing the horse to wildness with
his shouts and blows. Down the steep hillside they
flew at a dangerous pace, while a line of sparks
flashed under the sledge runners and the horse's
hoofs on the rough March roads.

Anna Stjarnhok and old Ulrika stood alone on
the road, but they had no word to say to each other.
Ulrika trembled at the sight of Anna's wild eyes,
and Anna had nothing to say to the poor creature
for whose sake she had sacrificed her lover.

She longed to scream, to throw herself on the
ground and strew the snow and sand upon her head.

She had known the beauty of sacrifice before,
now she felt its bitterness. To sacrifice her love was
nothing in comparison to offering up the soul of
her lover!

They reached Berga in silence, but when they
arrived and the sitting-room door opened, Anna
Stjarnhok fainted for the first and last time in her
life. There in the room sat Gosta Berling and Sin-
tram, chatting in all good fellowship, the toddy
glasses on the table. They must have been there
quite an hour.

Anna Stjarnhok fainted, but old Ulrika stood
calm. She had noted that all didn't seem quite right
with their pursuer on the road.

Afterwards it was arranged between Captain

GHOST STORIES 251

Uggla and Sintram that Ulrika should remain at
Berga. He took it all very good-naturedly; he cer-
tainly did not wish her to go mad, he said.

Oh, children of a later day!

I cannot demand that any one should believe
these old stories. They may be nothing but lies and
fancies,but the fear which rolls over the human heart,
till it wails like the floor planks under Sintram's rock-
ing-chair, the doubt which rings in your ears, as the
sleigh-bells rang in Anna Stjarnhok's in the lonely
forest, are they only lies and fancies?

Oh, if they only were!

Bbba TDohna's Story

BEWARE of the beautiful promontory on the
east shore of the Lofven, of the proud prom-
ontory round which the bays curve in gentle waves,
where Borg Hall stands. The Lofven is never so
beautiful as seen from its crest. No one knows how
lovely is this lake of my dreams, if from Borg
promontory he has not watched the morning mists
glide away from its gleaming surface, and from the
window of the. little blue cabinet where so many
memories live seen it reflect a rosy sunset.

But I still say — beware of going thither.

For you may be tempted to remain in the sor-
row-laden halls of the old estate; you will perhaps
become the owner of this beautiful spot, and if you
are young, rich, and happy, you may make your
home here with a young bride, as many another has
done.

No ; better never to have seen the beautiful prom-
ontory, for happiness cannot dwell in Borg. Know
that, however rich, however happy you may be,
those old-fashioned floors will soon drinkjy0#r tears ;
those walls, which have echoed so many sounds of
sorrow, will also echo your sighs.

There lies an untoward fate over that beautiful
estate. It seems as though sorrow were buried there,
but could find no rest in its grave, and rose again to

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 253

terrify the living. If I were master at Borg, I would
search the stony ground of the pine wood, and
under the cellar floor of the mansion, and in the fer-
tile earth of the surrounding fields, till I found the
worm-eaten corpse of the witch, and I would give
her a grave in consecrated ground at Svartsjo
churchyard. And at her funeral there should be no
lack of bell-ringers; the bells should peal loud and
long over her; and I would give rich gifts to the
priest and the sexton, that they might wed her to
everlasting rest with redoubled vigor.

Or if this were ineffective, I would let fire encircle
the bulging wooden walls some stormy night and
let it destroy it all, so that no one could ever again be
tempted to live in that unhappy house. And after-
wards no one should enter upon that fated place,
only the black daws from the church tower might
found a colony in the tall chimney stack which
raised itself black and awful over the charred ground.

Yet I should certainly be frightened to see the
flames leap over the roof, to see thick smoke, red-
dened by the flare of the flames and flaked with
sparks, pour forth from the old mansion. I should
fancy I heard the wail of homeless memories in the

j

roar and crackling of the flames, and saw homeless
ghosts float in their blue points. I should remember
how sorrow and unhappiness beautifies, and I should
weep, feeling that a temple of the old gods had been
doomed to destruction.

254 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

But silence, you who croak of misfortune! Wait
till night, if you would hoot in concert with the
forest owl. Borg still gleamed on the height of the
promontory, protected by its park of mighty pine
trees, and the snow-covered fields below glittered
in the blinding sunlight of a March morning, and
the glad laugh of the gay little Countess Elizabeth
was heard within its walls.

On Sundays she used to go to Svartsjo church,
which lay near Borg, and gather together some
friends to dinner. The Judge from Munkerud and
his family and the Ugglas from Berga, the curate
and his wife and wicked Sintram usually came, and
if Gosta Berling had come to Svartsjo over the ice
of the Lofven, she invited him too. Why should
she not invite Gosta Berling?

She probably did not know gossips already whis-
pered that Gosta went to the east shore so often
for the purpose of meeting the Countess. Perhaps
he also went to sup and gamble with Sintram; but
no one thought much of that, they all knew his
body was like iron, but it was quite another thing
with his heart. No one believed that he could see
a pair of bright eyes and fair hair curling round a
white forehead without falling in love.

The young Countess was very kind to him; but
there was nothing exceptional in that, for she was
kind to all. She seated ragged urchins on her knee;
and when driving, if she passed any poor old wretch

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 255

on the wayside, she made the coachman pull up and
took the wanderer into her sledge.

Gosta sat in the little blue cabinet, where you
have the lovely view northward over the lake, and
read poetry to her. There was no harm in it. He
did not forget what she was. A Countess! and he
was a homeless wanderer and adventurer; and it
did him good to associate with some one who stood
high and holy over him. He might as well think of
falling in love with the Queen of Sheba, who deco-
rated the front of the gallery in Svartsjo church, as
with the Countess Dohna.

He only desired to serve her as a page serves
his mistress — to be allowed to fasten on her skates,
hold her wool skeins, or steer her coasting sledge.
There could be no question of love between them,
but he was the kind of man to find pleasure in a
romantic, harmless sentiment.

The young Count was silent and serious, and
Gosta was gaiety itself. He was just the companion
the Countess desired. No one seeing her dreamed
of her cherishing an unlawful passion. She cared
only for dancing — dancing and gaiety. She would
like the world to be quite level, without any stones
or hills or lakes, so that you could dance over it all.
She would like to dance all the way from her cradle
to her grave in her narrow, thin-soled silken shoes.

But gossip is not very merciful toward young
women.

256 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

When these guests dined at Borg, the gentlemen
usually went after dinner into the Count's room to
smoke and take a nap; the old ladies sank into
the armchairs in the salon and leaned their worthy
heads against the high-cushioned backs; but the
Countess and Anna Stjarnhok went away into the
blue cabinet and exchanged endless confidences.

And on the Sunday following the one on which
Anna had taken old Ulrika Dillner back to Berga,
they were sitting there again.

No one on earth was more wretched than Anna.
All her gaiety was gone, as was the happy audacity
with which she met every one. and everything that
threatened to touch her.

All that had taken place that day had sunk, in
her consciousness, into the twilight from which it
had emanated. She had not a single clear impres-
sion.

Yes, one — which poisoned her soul.

" If it was not God," she kept whispering to her-
self,— "if it was not God, who sent the wolves?1

She demanded a sign, a miracle. She searched
the heavens and the earth, but she saw no hand
stretched from the skies to point out her way. No
cloud of smoke and fire went before her.

As she sat opposite the Countess in the little
blue cabinet, her eyes fell upon a small bouquet of
blue anemones which the Countess held in her white
hand. Like lightning it flashed across her that she

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 257

knew where they had grown, that she knew who
had plucked them.

There was no necessity to ask. Where in all the
country did blue anemones grow in April but in
the birchwood on the shore slope near Ekeby?

She gazed and gazed at the small blue stars —
those happy flowers who win all hearts; those little
prophets who, beautiful themselves, are glorified in
the glamour of all that they foretell, of all the beau-
tiful to come. And as she looked at them, anger
began to shake her soul — anger which rumbled like
thunder and streamed like lightning. " By what
right," she thought, "does the Countess wear that
bunch of anemones plucked on the shore road from
Ekeby?"

They were all tempters — Sintram, the Countess,
every one tried to tempt Gosta to evil ways; but she
would defend him, she would defend him against
them all. If it cost her her heart's blood, she would
do it.

She felt she must see those flowers torn from the
Countess's hand and cast aside, trampled, destroyed ,
before she left the little blue cabinet.

She felt this, and began a strife against the little
blue stars. In the salon the old ladies leaned their
heads against the backs of their armchairs, and sus-
pected nothing; the old gentlemen puffed their
pipes in peace and quietness in the Count's room —
all was calm, only in the little blue cabinet raged

258 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

a fierce strife. Ah, they do well who can hold their
hands from the sword, who can bear in patience, can
quiet their hearts and let God guide their path! The
uneasy heart is forever going astray; evil ever makes
the evil worse.

But Anna Stjarnhok thought she had at last seen
a sign.

<c Anna," said the Countess, "tell me a story."

"What about?"

"Oh," said the Countess, caressing the bouquet
with her white fingers, " don't you know something
about love, something about loving?'

"No, I know nothing about loving."

"How you talk! Isn't there a place here called
Ekeby, a place full of cavaliers?'

"Yes," said Anna, "there is a place here called
Ekeby, and there are men who suck out the marrow
of the country, who make us incapable of earnest
work, who ruin the youth growing up around them,
and lead our geniuses astray. Do you want to hear
love stories about them?'

"Yes, I do — I like the cavaliers."

Then Anna spoke — spoke in short, curt sen-
tences like an old hymn book, for she was nearly
stifled by stormy feeling. Hidden passion trembled
in every word, and the Countess, both frightened
and interested, listened to her.

"What is the love and the faith of a cavalier?
A sweetheart to-day, another to-morrow, one in the

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 259

east, one in the west. Nothing is too high for him,
nothing too low; one day a count's daughter, the
next a beggar girl. Nothing in the world is so roomy
as his heart. But wretched, wretched is she who loves
a cavalier! She must search for him while he lies
drunk on the wayside. She must silently watch him
laying waste the home of her children at the gam-
bling-table. She must endure seeing him hanging
about strange women. Oh, Elizabeth, if a cavalier
begs a decent woman for a dance, she ought to re-
fuse him; if he gives her flowers, she ought to throw
them away and trample on them; if she loves him,
she ought to die rather than marry him. Among the
cavaliers was one who was a disgraced clergy man. . . .
He was dismissed from his calling because he drank.
He was drunk in church: he drank the sacramental
wine. Have you heard of him?'

"No."

"After he was suspended, he ranged the country
as a beggar. He drank like a madman. He would
even steal to get gin."

"What is his name?'

" He is no longer at Ekeby. The Major's wife
took him in hand, gave him clothes, and persuaded
your mother-in-law, Countess Marta, to make him
tutor to your husband, young Count Henrik."

"A discharged clergyman?'

"Oh, he was a young and strong man, and
learned. There was nothing the matter with him as

26o GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

long as he did not drink. And Countess Marta was
not very particular. It amused her to tease the rector
and curate. Still she ordered that no one was to
speak of his past life to her children, for her son
would have lost all respect for him, and her daugh-
ter could not have endured him, for she was a saint.

"So he came here to Borg. He always remained
near the door, sat on the extreme edge of his chair,
was silent at table, and disappeared into the park as
soon as visitors arrived.

" But there, in the lonely paths, he used to meet
Ebba Dohna. She was not of those who loved the
noisy fetes that stormed through the halls of Borg
since Countess Marta had become a widow. She was
not of those who sent daring glances out into the
world. She was so shy and gentle. Even when she
was seventeen, she was but a tender child, but
she was very beautiful, with her brown eyes and the
fair flush on her cheeks. Her thin, slim figure bent
slightly forward. Her narrow little hand slipped into
yours with a shy pressure. Her little mouth was the
most silent of mouths, and the most serious. And
her voice — her sweet, low voice, which pronounced
the words so slowly and distinctly — never rang with
any healthy youthfulness or warmth, but its tired
tones sounded like a wearied musician's closing
chords.

" She was not like other girls. Her feet trod the
earth so lightly, so silently, as if she were but a

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 261

frightened visitant here; and her glances sank so as
not to be disturbed in the view of glorious inner
visions. Her soul had turned from earth while she
was but a child.

" When a child, her grandmother used to tell her
stories, and one evening they sat before the fire
together, but the stories were finished. Carsus and
Modems, and Lunkentus, and The Beautiful Melu-
sina had all lived before her. Like the flames, they
had flashed through a brilliant life, but now the
heroes were all slain and the beautiful princess had
turned to ashes, till the next blaze in the fireplace
should waken them to life again. But the child's
hand still rested on her grandmother's dress, and
she softly stroked the silk — that funny silk which
squeaked like a little bird when you touched it. And
that movement was her prayer, for she was one of
those children who never pray in words.

"Then the old lady began to tell her gently of
a little child who was born in the land of Judea —
a little child who was born to be a great king. The
angels had filled the world with songs of praise when
he had been born. The kings of the East had sought
him, guided by the star of heaven, and had presented
him with gold and incense, and old men and women
prophesied his glory. And the child grew to greater
wisdom and beauty than other children. When only
twelve years old, his wisdom was greater than that
of the high priest and the scribes.

262 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"And the old lady told her of the most beautiful
thing the world had ever seen — of the life of that
child while he remained on the earth among the
wicked people who would not acknowledge him
as their king. She told her how the child became
a man, while wonderful miracles ever surrounded
him.

" All on earth served and loved him, all but men.
The fish allowed themselves to be caught in his net,
bread filled his baskets, water turned to wine when
he wished it. But men gave him no golden crown,
no glittering throne. There were no courtiers to bow
before him. They allowed him to go away and live
as a beggar.

"Yet he was so good to them — he healed their
sick, gave sight to the blind, and raised the dead.

" c But/ said the old lady, c men would not receive
him as their lord. They sent their soldiers against
him and took him prisoner. They mocked him,
dressing him in a silken mantle and a crown and
sceptre, and made him bear his heavy cross to the
place of execution.

"cOh, my child! the good king loved the hills.
At night he used to ascend thither and hold con-
verse with the dwellers of the heavens, and he liked
to sit on the side of a mountain in the daytime and
talk to the listening multitude. But now they led
him up the mountain to crucify him. They drove
nails through his hands and feet, and hung the good

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 263

king upon a cross as if he had been a robber and
a murderer.

"{ And the people mocked him. Only his mother
and his friends wept that he should die before he
became king.

" c Oh, how the dead world sorrowed at his death !

" c The sun lost its light,and the mountains shook;
the veil of the temple was rent, and the graves
opened to allow the dead to rise and show their sor-
row/

"The child lay with her head on the grandmo-
ther's knee, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

"c Don't cry, dear ; the good king rose again and
went to his father in heaven.'

"'Grandmother,' she sobbed, 'did he never re-
ceive his kingdom here?'

' He sits at the right hand of God.'
But that did not comfort her. She wept as hope-
lessly and as unrestrainedly as only a child can weep.

"'Why were they so cruel to him? Why were
they allowed to be so cruel to him?'

"The old lady was almost frightened at such
overwhelming sorrow.

"'Say, grandmother, that you did not tell the
story rightly! Say that it ended differently, that they
were not so cruel to the good king, and that he re-
ceived his kingdom here on earth!'

"She flung her arms around her grandmother,
tears still streaming from her eyes.

«

(C

264 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"c Child, child,' her grandmother said to com-
fort her, c there are people who believe he will return.
The world will then be in his power, and he will
rule it. It will be a beautiful kingdom and last for
a thousand years. And the evil beasts shall become
good, and the children shall play in the adder's
nest, and the bear and the ox shall feed together.
Nothing will harm or destroy, the spears shall be
turned into scythes, and swords shall be forged into
ploughshares. And all shall be joy and gladness,
for the good shall inherit the earth.'

"Then the child's face brightened beneath her
tears.

"£Will the good king have a throne, grand-
mother?'

c" A throne of gold.'

"fAnd servants and courtiers and a golden
crown?'

"cYes.'

cccWill he come soon, grandmother?'

"cNo one knows when he will come.'

"cMay I then sit on a cushion at his feet?'
cYes, certainly you may.'
'Grandmother, I am so happy,' she cried.
Evening after evening, for many winters, those
two sat by the fire and talked about the good king
and his kingdom. The child dreamed of it both day
and night, and she never wearied of aggrandizing
it in fancy with all the beautiful she could imagine.

cc
CC
(C

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 265

"It is often the case with the silent children about
us that they cherish a dream which they dare not
talk about. There are wonderful thoughts inside
many a head of soft hair; the brown eyes see many
wonderful visions behind their drooping eyelids;
many a fair maid has her bridegroom in heaven;
many a rosy cheek would anoint the feet of the
good king with precious ointment, and dry them
with her hair.

"Ebba Dohna dared not tell any one about it,
but since that evening she had lived for the Lord's
Millennium alone, and to await his coming.

" When the evening sun lighted up the portals
of the west, she wondered if he would not appear
there, shining in quiet splendor, followed by mil-
lions of angels, and pass by her, allowing her to
touch the hem of his mantle.

" She often thought, too, of the pious women who
had loved him as devotedly as she did, and hung
veils over their heads, and never raised their eyes
from earth, but imprisoned themselves in the quiet
of grey cloisters and the darkness of small cells so
as to see uninterruptedly the glorious visions that
rise from the darkness of the soul.

"Thus she had grown up, and such was her char-
acter, when she and the new tutor began to meet
in the lonely park. I will speak no more ill of him
than I must. I try to believe that he loved that child
who chose him as her companion in her lonely walks.

266 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

I believe his soul again took wing as he walked by
the side of that silent girl, who had never confided
in any one before. I think he felt himself like a child
again too, good and virtuous.

"But if he loved her, why did he not remember
that he could give her no worse gift than his love?
He, one of the outcasts of the world, what was
he doing, what was he thinking of, as he walked by
the side of the Count's daughter? What did he, the
discharged pastor, feel when she confided her reli-
gious dreams to him? What was he, who had been
a drunkard and brawler, and would be one again
as soon as the opportunity offered — what was he
doing by the side of her who dreamed of a bride-
groom in heaven ? Why did he not flee, flee far from
her? Would it not have been better for him to wan-
der stealing and begging through the country than
that he should walk there in the silent pine wood
and be good and virtuous and devout again, when
his past life could not be lived over again, and it
was unavoidable that Ebba Dohna should learn to
love him?

"You are not to think he looked a miserable
drunkard with ashy cheeks and red eyes. He was
ever a stately man, beautiful and strong in body and
soul. He bore himself like a king, and had an iron
constitution which was not impaired by the wildest
life."

"Is he still alive?" asked the Countess.

cc

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 267

Oh, no, he must be dead now. It is all so long
ago.

There was something within Anna Stjarnhok
that trembled at what she was doing. She began to
think she would never tell the Countess who the
man was, that she would let her believe him dead.

"At that time he was still young," she continued
her story; "the joy of life awoke again within him.
He had the gift of speech and a fiery, inflammable
heart. There came an evening when he spoke to
her of love. She did not answer him, but told him
of what her grandmother had described to her in
the winter evenings and of the land of her dreams.
Afterwards she made him promise, made him swear,
that he would be one of God's preachers, one of
those who would prepare the way for him, that his
coming might be hastened.

"What could he do? He was a discharged cler-
gyman, and no path was so impossible for him as the
one she had wished him to tread. But he dared not
tell her the truth: he had not the heart to distress
the sweet child he loved. He promised all she asked.

" Not many words between them were required
after that. It was clear that she would one day be his
wife. It was not a love of kisses and caresses. He
hardly dared approach her closely; she was as sen-
sitive as a fragile flower; but her brown eyes were
raised from the ground sometimes in search of his.
On moonlight nights, when they sat upon the ve-

268 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

randa, she used to creep close to him, and he kissed
her hair without her noticing it.

" But, you understand, his sin lay in his forget-
fulness of both past and future. That he was poor
and had no position in life, he might easily forget;
but he ought to have remembered that the day
would surely come when love would rise against
love in her mind, earth against heaven, and when
she must choose between him and the glorious Lord
of her dreams. And she was not one of those who
could survive such a strife.

"So passed the summer, the autumn, and winter.
When spring came, and the ice in the Lofven broke
up, Ebba Dohna lay sick. The springs were melt-
ing in the valleys, the brooks were swelling, the ice
on the lakes was insecure, roads were impassable
both for sledges and wheeled vehicles. Countess
Dohna wanted a doctor from Karlstad — there was
no one nearer — but she commanded in vain. Nei-
ther threats nor prayers could induce any of the ser-
vants to go for him. She begged the coachman on
her knees, but he refused. She had cramp and hys-
terics, she was so alarmed over her daughter. She
was as uncontrolled in sorrow as in joy was Count-
ess Marta.

"Ebba Dohna had inflammation of the lungs,
and her life was in danger, but there was no doctor
to be had.

" Then the tutor rode to Karlstad. To cross the

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 269

country when the roads were in such a state was
to venture his life, but he did it. He crossed the
lakes on swaying ice, and climbed neck-breaking
heaps of it, where it was stacked; he was obliged
sometimes to cut steps for his horse in the high
blocks, sometimes he dragged it out of the deep
mire of the road. They said the doctor refused to
accompany him, but that he forced him to do so at
the point of his pistol.

" When he came back, the Countess was ready
to cast herself at his feet. 'Take everything/ she
cried, c take what you will — my daughter, my land,
or my money!'

"cYour daughter/ said the tutor."

Anna Stjarnhok suddenly became silent.

"Well, and afterwards — and afterwards? " asked
the Countess.

"That is enough," answered Anna, for she was
one of those miserable people who are always in
fear and doubt. She had been in doubt all the week.
She did not know what she wanted. That which
seemed right to her one moment seemed wrong the
next. Now she wished she had never begun this
story.

j

"I begin to believe you are mocking me, Anna.
Don't you understand I must hear the end?'

"There isn't much more to say. The hour of
strife had come to Ebba Dohna, love rose against
love, earth against heaven. . . .

270 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

cc Countess Marta told her daughter of the won-
derful journey the young man had made for her
sake, and that as a reward she had given him her
hand.

"Ebba Dohna was so far convalescent that she
lay dressed upon the sofa. She was tired and pale
and even more silent than usual. When she heard
these words, she lifted her reproachful, mournful
brown eyes to her mother and said, c Mamma, have
you given me to a discharged clergyman, to one
who has forfeited his right to be God's servant, to
a man who has been a beggar and -a thief? '

"'But, child, who has told you this? I thought
you knew nothing about it!'

'"I heard it — I heard your visitors talking about
it the day I fell ill.'

"'But remember, Ebba, he saved your life.'

"CI remember that he has deceived me. He
should have told me who he was/

'"He says you love him/

"CI have done so. I cannot love him who has
deceived me/

"cln what way has he deceived you?'

"'You would not understand, mamma/

"She did not care to talk to her mother about
the Millennium of her dreams which her lover was
to help her to realize.

"'Ebba/ said her mother, 'if you love him, you
must not think of what he has been, but marry him.

cc
cc

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 271

The husband of Countess Dohnawill be sufficiently
rich and sufficiently powerful for his youthful sins
to be forgiven him.'

" ' I am not thinking of his youthful sins, mamma.
It is because he has deceived me and can never be
what I wished him to be that I will not marry him.'
cEbba, remember I have given my word.1
The girl became deadly pale.

"c Mamma, I tell you, if you make me marry
him, you part me from God.'

"f I am determined to make you happy,' said her
mother, 'and I am sure you will be happy with this
man. You have already made a saint of him. I have
determined to put aside the usual requirements of
our station, and to forget that he is poor and de-
spised, to give you the opportunity of raising him.
I feel I am doing what is right. You know how I
despise all old conventionalities.'

"But she said this because she could not endure
any one to contradict her. Perhaps, too, she meant
it when she said it. Countess Marta was not easy
to understand.

"Ebba lay quietly on her sofa for a long time
after her mother left her. She fought her fight.
Earth rose against heaven, love against love; but
the love of her childhood won the battle. As she
lay there on that very sofa, she saw the west flush
into a glorious sunset. She felt it was a greeting from
the good king, and as she was not strong enough to

272 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

be true to him if she lived, she determined to die.
She could do nothing else when her mother wished
her to be the wife of one who could not be a ser-
vant of the king. She went to the window, opened
it, and let the cold, damp evening again envelop her
poor, feeble little body.

" It was easy for her to bring about her death.
It was certain she would have a relapse, and she did.

"No one but I knew that she had sought her
death. I found her at the window. I heard her rav-
ings in her fever. She liked me to remain by her
side during her last days.

"It was I who saw her die, who saw her, one
evening, stretch out her arms to the glowing west,
and die, smiling, as if she had seen some one step
out from the sunset radiance to meet her. I also was
to carry her last greeting to the man she had loved.
I was to ask him to forgive her that she could not
be his wife. The good king would not allow it.

" But I have not dared to tell the man he was
her murderer. I have not dared to lay the burden of
such sorrow upon him. And yet, he that lied and
won her love was he not her murderer ? Was he not,
Elizabeth?"

Countess Dohna had long since ceased caressing
the blue anemones. Now she stood up, and the
bouquet fell to the ground.

"Anna, you are still mocking me. You say the

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 273

story is old, and that the man is dead long ago.
But I know it is hardly five years since Ebba Dohna
died, and you say you were a witness to it all. You
are not old. Tell me who the man is.11

Anna Stjarnhok began to laugh.

"You wanted a love story, and you have had
one which has cost you both tears and distress."

"Do you mean that it is not true?*

"It is nothing but lies and fancy, my dear."

"You are malicious, Anna."

"Perhaps — I am not too happy. I can tell you
— but the old ladies have wakened, and the gen-
tlemen are entering the drawing-room — let us join
them."

She was arrested on the threshold by Gosta Ber-
ling, who had come in search of the young ladies.

"You must have patience with me," he said,
laughingly; " I am only going to annoy you for ten
minutes, but you must hear some poetry."

He told them that he had dreamed that night
more vividly than usual — dreamed that he wrote
poetry. And he — the so-called "poet," though he
had borne the name innocently hitherto — had got
up in the middle of the night and, half asleep,
half awake, had begun to write. And he had found
quite a long poem on his writing-table in the morn-
ing. He never could have believed it of himself.
The ladies must hear it, and he read:

274 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

" Now rose the moon, and with it came the day's most lovely hour,
And from the clear, pale, lofty dome, she poured her shimmer
down

On the veranda wreathed in lovely flowers;

While at our feet the lily spread

Its scent, its chalice tipped with gold;

And on the hard, broad stairway there

We grouped together, young and old,
Silent at first, and let our feelings sing
Our hearts* old songs in that most lovely hour.

I

u From the mignonette bed a lovely scent was all around diffused,
And from the dark and gloomy tangle of the undergrowth

The shadows crept over the dewy plot.

Our spirits, freed, now flew on high

To regions which they scarce could reach,

To the pale blue shining dome on high,

Whose brightness scarce revealed a star.
Ah! who could flee a throbbing of the heart
When shadows sport and mignonette perfumes the air.

"A Provence rose shed silently its last, pale, fading leaves,
And yet no sportive breeze had claimed the sacrifice.
So, thought we, would we give our life,
Vanish in air like a dying tone,
Like autumn s yellow leaves, without a sigh.
Oh! ye strain at the length of our years, disturb
Thus Nature' s peace — to grasp a vision.
Death is Life's wage, so may we pass in peace
As a Provence rose sheds silently its last pale leaves.

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 275

"On quivering wing a lonely bat flew swift and noiseless by.
Passed and repassed,and was ever seen where* er the moonlight
And in the downcast hearts it raised \fe^y

The question never answered yet —
Deep as sorrow — old as pain —
4 Oh, whither go ye, what paths shall ye tread
When the verdant paths of the earth ye leave?
Can ye point the spirit's path to another?' — No,
'T 'were easier to guide the bat which flutter eth by just now.

" On my shoulder, then, my darling leaned her head, her soft,

sweet hair,
And softly she did whisper to him whom she thus loved —

4 Ne'er dream my soul will flee from thee

To distant spheres when I am dead ;

My homeless spirit will find its way

To thee, oh, love ! and dwell in thee.'

What pain ! My heart was nigh to break.
Would she then die? Was this night then her last?
Was this my parting kiss upon my darling 's face?

44 Now many years have passed since then — I sit again and oft
In that old favorite place of mine, when nights are dark and

still;
But I shrink from the moon — she knows how oft

On the veranda I have kissed my love.

Her shimmering light she used to blend

With the tears I shed on my darling's hair.

Oh, the woe of memory ! It is my curse.
My soul is the home of hers ! What doom can he await
Who has bound to his a soul so pure and fair T

276 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

" Gosta," said Anna, in a would-be laughing tone,
though fear clutched at her throat, "they say that
you have lived through more poems than have ever
been written by those who do nothing else all their
lives ; but I advise you to keep to your own style of
poem. Those verses are clearly a night production."

"You are cutting, Anna."

"To come and read to us about death and mis-
ery! Aren't you ashamed?'

But Gosta was not paying further attention to
her, his eyes were fixed on the young Countess.
She sat quite motionless, immovable as a statue. He
thought she was going to faint.

But with much trouble a word passed her lips.

"Go!" she said.

"Who is to go? Is it I?"

"The parson must go," she ejaculated.

"Elizabeth, do be silent!"

"The drunken parson must leave my house!'

"Anna, Anna," cried Gosta, "what does she
mean?'

"Go away, Gosta; it is best you should go."

"Why should I go? What is the meaning of
this?"

"Anna," said the Countess, "tell him — tell
him ...

"No, Countess, you must tell him yourself."

The Countess Elizabeth bit her teeth together
and mastered her feeling.

EBBA DOHNA'S STORY 277

" Herr Berling," she said, approaching him, "you
have a wonderful faculty for maJcing people forget
who you are. I have not heard till to-day. I have
just been told the story of Ebba Dohna's death,
and that it was the knowledge that the man she
loved was unworthy of her love which caused her
death. Your poem has shown me that you are the
man. I cannot understand how a man with a past
such as yours dares to show himself in the society
of a decent woman. I cannot understand it, Herr
Berling. Is my meaning sufficiently clear?'

"It is, Countess. I will only say one word in de-
fence. I was convinced — I have been convinced
all the time that you knew all about me. I have
never tried to hide anything, but there is no plea-
sure in shouting out one's bitterest griefs from the
housetops — least of all to do it one's self."

And he left them.

At the same moment Countess Dohna set her
foot upon the little bouquet of blue anemones.

"You have done what I desired," said Anna
Stjarnhok to her in a hard voice; "but this is the
end of our friendship. You need not think I will
forgive you for having been cruel to him. You have
dismissed him, scorned and hurt him, and I — I
would follow him to prison, to the pillory if need
be. I will guard and defend him. You have done
what I desired, but I shall never forgive you."

"But, Anna, Anna!"

278 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

"If I told you that story, do you think I did it
with a glad heart? Have I not been tearing my heart
out bit by bit while sitting here?'

"Then, why did you do it?'

"Why? Because — because I did not wish him
to be the lover of a married woman.

ZMamtelle Marie

OH ARK, hark! There is a buzzing over my
head. It must be a bumblebee that comes fly-
ing. And what a fragrance ! As true as I live, it is
boy's-love and sweet lavender and hawthorne and
lilac and white narcissus. How delightful to have all
this steal in upon you on a grey autumn evening
in the midst of the town. I have only to think of
that precious little corner of the earth, and imme-
diately I hear the hum of tiny wings and the air
about me is filled with sweet perfumes. In a twink-
ling I am transported into a little square rose-gar-
den, full of flowers, protected by a privet-hedge.
In the corners are lilac bowers with wooden seats,
and between the flower beds, which are formed in
the shape of hearts and stars, wind narrow paths,
strewn with white sea-sand. On three sides of this
rose-garden are woods. Semi-wild rowan and hag-
berry trees stand nearest it, their scents blending
with the perfume of the lilacs. Beyond are some
clusters of silver-stemmed birches, which lead to
the spruce forest — the real forest, dark and silent;
bearded and prickly. And on the fourth side stands
a little grey cottage.

The rose-garden of which I am thinking was
owned some sixty years ago by an old Fru Moreus
of Svartsjo, who earned her living making quilts

280 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

for the peasants and cooking the food for their
feasts.

Dear friends, of the many good things that I
wish for you, above all I would name a rose-gar-
den and a quilting-frame — a great, wobbly, old-
fashioned quilting-frame, with worn screw-taps and
chipped rollers, at which five or six persons can
work at the same time and hold a stitching con-
test, where all hands vie with each other to pro-
duce neat stitches on the under-side; where one
munches roasted apples, and chatters, and "jour-
neys to Greenland to hide the ring," and laughs
till the squirrels out in the wood tumble headlong
to the ground from fright. A quilting-frame for
winter and for summer a rose-garden. Not a gar-
den on which one must lay out more money than
the pleasure is worth, but a rose-garden such as
they had in the old days, the kind you tend with
your own hands ; with little brier trees crowning
the brow of the small hillocks and wreaths of for-
get-me-nots encircling the foot, and where the big
floppy poppy, which sows itself, springs up every-
where on the grassy borders, and even in the sand-
path ; also there should be a sunTbrowned moss sofa,
overgrown with columbine and crown imperials.

OldFru Moreus,who had three lively andindus-
trious daughters, was in her day the proud possessor
of many things. She owned a little cottage near the
roadside, had a nest-egg tucked away at the bot-

MAMSELLE MARIE 281

torn of an old chest, had stiff silk shawls and straight-
backed armchairs, and besides, she had learned to
do any number of things that are useful to know
for one who must earn her own bread. But the
quilting-frame, which brought her work the year
round, and the rose-garden, which gave her joy the
whole summer long, were to her the best of all.

In Fru Moreus's cottage was a lodger, a little
weazened spinster about forty years of age, who oc-
cupied a gable-room in the attic. Mamselle Marie,
as she was called, held views of her own about many
things, as is apt to be the case with those who sit
much alone and let their thoughts dwell on what
their eyes have seen.

Now Mamselle Marie believed that love was
the root of all the evil in this mundane world. Every
night before going to sleep, she would fold her hands
and say her evening prayers. When she had said
"Our Father" and "Lord bless us," she always
prayed God to preserve her from love.

"It could only end in misery," she would say,
"for I am old and homely and poor. May I be
spared from falling in love!'

Day after day she sat in her attic chamber, knit-
ting curtains and table-covers in shelUstitch, which
she sold to the gentry and the peasants. She was
knitting together a little cottage of her own. A cot
on the hillside opposite Svartsjo Church was what
she wanted — a cottage on high ground from which

282 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

one could have a fine open view, that was her dream.
But of love she would have none.

When on a summer evening she heard the sound
of violin music from the crossroads, where the fid-
dler sat on a stile, and the young folks danced till
the dust whirled about them, she would go a long
way around through the wood to escape hearing and
seeing.

The day after Christmas, when the peasant brides
came to be dressed by Fru Moreus and her daugh-
ters, while they were being adorned with wreaths of
myrtle and high satin crowns broidered with glass
beads, with gorgeous silk sashes and breast bou-
quets of hand-made roses and skirts garlanded with
taffeta flowers, she kept to her room so as not to see
them decked out in Love's honor.

And when on winter evenings the Moreus girls
sat at the quilting-frame in the cosy living-room,
where a fire crackled on the hearth and the glass-
apples swung and sweated before the blaze; when
handsome Gosta Berling and the good Ferdinand,
dropping in for a visit, would pull the thread out of
the needles and fool the girls into making crooked
stitches, the walls fairly ringing with the merry chat-
ter and the love-making, as hands met hands under
the quilting-frame — then, vexed, she would hur-
riedly gather up her knitting and quit the room.
For she hated lovers and the ways of Love.

But Love's misdeeds she knew, and of these she

MAMSELLE MARIE 283

could tell! She wondered that Amor still dared
show himself on this earth, that he was not fright-
ened away by the wails of the forsaken, by the curses
of those whom he had turned into criminals, by the
lamentations of others whom he had cast into hate-
ful bondage, and she marvelled that his wings could
bear him so lightly, that he did not fall into the
abyss of oblivion, weighed down by shame and
remorse.

To be sure, she, like others, had once been young,
but she had never been in love with Love. Never
had she let herself be tempted to dance or to take
or give a caress. Her mother's guitar hung in the
attic, dusty and unstrung, but Mamselle Marie
had never thrummed inane love-ditties on it. Her
mother's potted rose-tree stood in the window;
she watered it, that was all, for she was not fond of
flowers, those children of love. Its leaves sagged
with dust, spiders spun webs between the stems,
and the buds never opened.

In Fru Moreus's rose-garden, where butterflies
fluttered and birds sang, where fragrant blossoms
wafted their love messages to circling bees — where
everything spoke of the detestable Amor — she sel-
dom set foot.

Then there came a time when the Svartsjo folk
had an organ put into their church. A young organ-
builder arrived in the parish, and he too became a
lodger at Fru Moreus's cottage.

284 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

It was he who built in the organ which has such
extraordinary tones, whose thundering bass some-
times bursts forth in the middle of a peaceful an-
them — how or why, none can say — and sets all the
children howling in church at Christmas matins.

That the young organ-builder was a master of
his craft may well be doubted, but he was a bonny
fellow with sunshine in his eyes. He had a pleasant
word for every one, — for rich and poor, old and
young.

When he came home from his work in the even-
ing, he would hold Fru Moreus's skein, dig side
by side with the young girls in the rose-garden,
declaim Axel and sing Frithiof, and he picked up
Mamselle Marie's ball of thread as often as she let
it drop, and even set her clock going.

He never came away from a ball without having
danced with every woman there, from the oldest
matron to the youngest slip of a girl, and when
some adversity befell him, he would sit down beside
the first woman he chanced to meet and make her
his confidant. He was the manner of man women
create in their dreams. It cannot be said that he
spoke to any one of love, but he had not been many
weeks at Fru Moreus's before all the girls were in
love with him. As for poor Mamselle Marie, she
had prayed her prayers in vain.

That was a time of sorrow and a time of joy.
Tears rained on the quil ting-frame, blotting out the

MAMSELLE MARIE 285

chalk lines. Evenings, a pale dreamer often sat in
the lilac bower, and up in Mamselle Marie's little
room the newly strung guitar twanged to old love
songs, which Marie had learned from her mother.

The young organ-builder meanwhile went about,
happy and care-free, lavishing his smiles and atten-
tions upon these languishing women, who quar-
relled over him while he was away at his work.
Then, at last, came the day when he must depart.

The conveyance was at the door, the luggage had
been tied on behind, and the young man said fare-
well. He kissed Fru Moreus on the hand, gathered
the weeping girls in his arms, and kissed them on
the cheek. Hewept himself at having to leave there,
for he had passed a pleasant summer in the little
grey cottage. At the very last he looked around for
Mamselle Marie.

She came down the old attic stairs in her best
array, the guitar strung round her neck on a broad,
green silk ribbon, a bouquet of " moon-roses " in her
hand; for that summer her mother's rose-tree had
bloomed. She stood before the young man, struck
her guitar, and sang:

"Thou *rt going far from us. Ah ,- come back again!

* T is friendship* s voice that entreats thee.
Be happy, forget not a true, loving heart,

Which in V'drmelancfs valleys awaits thee"

Whereupon she put the nosegay in his buttonhole

286 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

and kissed him square on the mouth; then she van-
ished up the attic stairs like an apparition.

Amor had taken revenge on her and made her
a spectacle for all men. But she never again com-
plained of him, never again put away the guitar, and
never, never forgot to care for her mother's rose-
tree.

" Better unhappiness with Love than happiness
without him," she thought.

Time passed. The Major's wife had been driven out
of Ekeby, and the cavaliers had come into power.
Thus it happened, as related, that Gosta Berling,
one Sunday evening, read a poem to the Countess at
Borg, after which he was ordered out of the house
and told never to enter it again.

'T is said that when Gosta shut the hall door after
him, he saw several sledges drive up to Borg, and
cast a furtive glance at the little lady seated in the
first sledge. Dark as that hour had been for him,
it became darker still at sight of her. He hastened
away, lest he be recognized. Forebodings of disaster
filled his mind. Had the conversation inside called
up this woman? One misfortune always brings an-
other.

Servants came hurrying out, carriage aprons were
unbuttoned, and pelts thrown to one side. Who had
come? Who was the little lady that stood up in

MAMSELLE MARIE 287

the sledge? Ah, it was actually she herself, Marta
Dohna, the celebrated Countess!

She was the gayest and maddest of women. A
pleasure-loving world had placed her on a throne
and crowned her its queen. Play and Laughter were
her subjects, and in the lottery of life she had drawn
music, dancing, and adventure.

Though now close on to fifty, she was one of the
wise, who do not count the years. " He who cannot
lift his foot to dance," she said, "nor open his
mouth to laughter, he is old; he feels the atrocious
burden of years, but not I."

King Pleasure did not reign undisturbed in the
days of her youth, but change and uncertainty only
increased the delight of his charming presence. His
Majesty of the butterfly wings had tea one day in
the rooms of the ladies-in-waiting at the palace in
Stockholm, and danced the next in Paris. He visited
Napoleon's camps, sailed the blue Mediterranean
with Nelson's fleet, attended a congress in Vienna,
and risked going to Brussels on the eve of a famous
battle to attend a ball.

And where King Pleasure was, there too was
Marta Dohna, his chosen queen. Dancing, playing,
jesting, Countess Marta flitted the whole world
round. What had she not seen, what lived! She
had danced thrones down, played ecart'e for prin-
cipalities, caused devastating wars with her banter.
Merriment and folly had been her life, and would

288 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

be always. Her feet were not too old for dancing,
nor her heart for love. When did she ever weary
of masquerades and comedies, of droll tales and
plaintive ballads?

When Pleasure betimes was homeless in the great
world converted into a battlefield, she would take
refuge for a longer or shorter period at the Count's
old manor on the shores of Lake Lofven, as in
the time of the Holy Alliance, when the princes
and their courts had become too dull for her lady-
ship. It was during one of these visits that she had
thought it well to make Gosta Berling her son's
tutor. She always enjoyed her stay at Borg. Never
had Pleasure a more ideal kingdom, with gay, beau-
tiful women and adventure-loving men. There was
no lack of feasts and balls, of boating-parties on
moonlit lakes, nor sleighing-parties through dark
forests, nor thrilling heart-experiences.

But after her daughter's death the Countess had
ceased coming. She had not visited Borg in five
years. Now she came to see how her daughter-in-law
bore the life among the pines, the bears, and the
snows. She deemed it her duty to find out whether
the tiresome Henrik had quite bored her to death
with his stupidities, and she meant to play the gentle
angel of domesticity. Sunshine and happiness were
packed in her forty leather portmanteaux, Mirth
was her handmaiden, Play her companion, Banter
her charioteer.

MAMSELLE iMARIE 289

As she tripped up the steps, she was met with
open arms. Her old rooms had been put in order.
Her companion, her maid, her footman, her forty
leather portmanteaux and her thirty hat-boxes, her
dressing-rolls, her shawls, and her furs were by de-
grees brought into the house. There was bustle and
excitement from cellar to attic, a slamming of doors
and a running on the stairs. It was quite evident
that Countess Marta had arrived!

It was a beautiful spring evening, though only
April, and the ice in the lake had not yet broken
up. Mamselle Marie had opened her window and
was sitting in her room, picking her guitar and
singing. She was so absorbed in her music and her
memories that she did not notice that a carriage had
drawn up at the door of the cottage. In the car-
riage sat Countess Marta, who was highly amused
at the sight of Mamselle Marie seated at the win-
dow, hugging her guitar and, with eyes turned heav-
enward, singing old, long-forgotten love-ditties.

Presently the Countess got out of her carriage
and went into the cottage, where the girls sat as
usual at the quilting-frame. She was never haughty:
the winds of the Revolution had swept over her
and blown fresh air into her lungs.

It was not her fault that she was a Countess, she
used to say; but at all events she would live the

290 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

life that was most pleasing to her. She had just as
good a time at peasant weddings as at court balls,
and when there was no one else at hand, she enter-
tained her maids. She brought joy wherever she
appeared, with her pretty little face and her exuber-
ant spirits.

The Countess ordered quilts of Fru Moreus and
complimented her daughters; she looked about the
rose-garden and told of her adventures on the jour-
ney, for she was always having adventures, and she
finally climbed the attic stairs, which were dread-
fully steep and narrow, and sought out Mamselle
Marie in her gable-room. The Countess's dark eyes
beamed on the lonely little woman, and her mellow
voice caressed her ear.

She gave her an order for curtains, and declared
she could not live at Borg without having knitted
curtains at all her windows, and for every table she
must have one of Mamselle's covers.

Taking up the guitar, she sang to her of love and
happiness and told her stories, and the little Mam-
selle was quite carried away into the gay, festive
world. And the Countess's laugh was so musical
it set all the little half-frozen birds out in the rose-
garden warbling, and her face, which was hardly
pretty now, for her complexion had been ruined by
cosmetics and there was a sensual expression about
her mouth, looked so beautiful to Mamselle Ma-
rie, that she wondered how the little looking-glass

MAMSELLE MARIE 291

could let it vanish once it had been mirrored on its
shining surface.

At parting, she kissed Mamselle and asked her to
come to Borg. Poor Mamselle Marie's heart was as
empty as the swallow's nest at Christmas. Though
free, she sighed for chains like a slave freed in old
age.

Again there came for her a time of joy and a time
of sorrow; but it did not last long — only one short
week.

Every day the Countess sent for her and enter-
tained her with anecdotes of her suitors, and Mam-
selle Marie laughed as she had never laughed before.
They became the best of friends, and the Countess
soon knew all about the young organ-builder and
about the parting.

At twilight she would have Mamselle sit in the
window-seat in the little blue cabinet, hang the
guitar-ribbon round her neck, and make her sing
love songs. The Countess sat where she could see
the old spinster's shrunken figure and ugly little
head silhouetted against the red evening sky, and
she likened the poor Mamselle to a languishing
maid of the castle. Her songs were all of tender
shepherds and cruel shepherdesses, and her voice
was the thinnest voice imaginable ; so one can easily
understand that the Countess had her little laugh
at the ludicrousness of it all.

There was a party at Borg, as was natural when

292 GOSTA BERLING'S SAGA

the Count's mother had come home. It was not a
grand affair, only the parish folk being invited; but
every one had a jolly time, as usual.

The dining-hall was on the lower floor, and after
supper the guests did not go upstairs again, but
ensconced themselves in the adjoining room, which
was Countess Marta's living-room. The Countess
picked up Mamselle Marie's guitar, and began to
sing for the company.

She was a merry-maker, this Countess, and a
clever mimic. Now she had taken it into her head
to mimic Mamselle Marie. Turning her eyes heav-
enward she proceeded to sing in a thin, squeaky
voice.

"No no, no no, Countess!" pleaded Mamselle
Marie.

But Marta Dohna was having sport, and the
guests could hardly help laughing, though no doubt
they felt sorry for poor Mamselle Marie.

The Countess took from a pot-pourri jar a hand-
ful of dried rose-leaves and, with tragic gestures,
went up to Mamselle Marie, and sang with mock
emotion:

"Thou 'rt going far from us. Ah, come back again!

"T 'is friendships voice that entreats thee.
Be happy ^ forget not a true, loving heart,

Which in Varmeland^s valleys awaits thee"

MAMSELLE MARIE 293

Then she strewed the rose-leaves over her head.
Everybody laughed except Mamselle Marie, who
went white with fury. She looked as though she
could have torn out the Countess's eyes.

"You 're a bad woman, Ma'rta Dohna," she said.
"No honest woman should associate with you."

Countess Ma'rta was angry too.

"Out with you, Mamselle!" she cried. "I have
had enough of your silliness."

"I shall go," answered Mamselle Marie, "but
first I must be paid for my covers and my curtains,
which you Ve put up here."

"The old rags!" exclaimed the Countess. "Do
you want to be paid for such rubbish? Take them
away ! I never wish to see them again. Take them
away with you at once!'

Whereupon the Countess tore down the cur-
tains and threw them, with the table-covers, at
Mamselle Marie.

The next day young Countess Elizabeth begged
her mother-in-law to make her peace with poor
Mamselle ; but she would not, for she was weary of
her.

The young Countess then bought of Mamselle
Marie the whole set of curtains and put them up
at all the windows in the upper story, and Mam-
selle felt herself fully redressed.

Countess Ma'rta chaffed her daughter-in-law a

294 COST A BERLING'S SAGA

good deal about her fondness for knitted curtains.
She could also mask her anger — keep it smoulder-
ing for years. A very clever person was this Count-
ess Marta Dohna.

END OF VOLUME I

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA

30112071779885